


Hope Raises (no) Dust

by rosemaldrge



Series: Hope Raises (No) Dust [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Beach Holidays, Bipolar Disorder, Bullying, Cornwall, Effie is a sweetheart, Eventual Smut, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Indian James Potter, M/M, Manipulation, Medicinal Drug Use, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Painter Remus, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pride and Prejudice References, Rating: M, Remus is unwell, Self-Harm, Sirius Black Speaks French, Sirius is a Siren (he wishes), Slurs, Smoking, South East Asian Sirius, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Notes, Summer Vacation, Wolfstar Hurt Fest 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemaldrge/pseuds/rosemaldrge
Summary: Modern day Magical AU where Sirius fancied himself a Siren to wreak havoc in the mortal world and prey after boys but ended up falling in love.ORAn AU in which Sirius stalked around a muggle school smoking and pined over a cute boy in the summer after his sixth yearand Remus wished that he was dead.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Hope Raises (No) Dust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927810
Comments: 55
Kudos: 126
Collections: Wolfstar Hurt Fest





	1. Eyes Shut

**Author's Note:**

> Title is an appropriation of a quote by Éluard.
> 
> This work deals with issues that might be difficult to read to some. There are TW warning on chapters that applied. Please take care of yourself loves and do not read them/this work if they are triggering to you.
> 
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pub with a funny map, a school that's not quite Hogwarts, and _a boy._

_Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne,  
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends.  
J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne.  
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps._

Tomorrow, at dawn, in the hour when the countryside becomes white,  
I will leave. You see, I know that you are waiting for me.  
I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain.  
I cannot stay far from you any longer.

☆

It was Sirius’ third day as a siren. Well, as much of a siren a seventeen-year-old wizard can be. Not an actual siren of course, that would be ridiculous. He was after all, not very keen on the idea of living on jagged rocks, at the arse end of nowhere, thank you very much. But the ideals of it appealed to him so. He got the look to pull it off, _‘that’s a given,’_ he had thought – a pair of grey eyes like stormy winter sky, high cheekbones that were sharper than a serpent’s tooth, and rosy lips that looked stunning on his light brown skin.

If that didn’t work, _‘fat chance,’_ he scoffed, as Sirius had always thought rather highly of himself; he fancied that he could certainly make up for the lack of enchanting singing voice with his charms. He wagered that since he was not technically out to lure sailors into their crushing doom, and really, just looking to get off with unsuspecting boys, it wouldn’t have mattered that much.

Sirius was off to someplace somewhere beginning with a ‘C’ that day. Before he decided on this _going-down-the-alphabet tirade_ , he was rather fond of the novelty of throwing darts at a map and _apparating_ wherever it landed.

It was something of a feature at a corner pub he frequented more than his flat these days. A large vintage world map adorned one wall, stretching from the ceiling down to the mangy wooden floor. The offending map was impaled at a lot of places with darts, which was a _rite de passage_ of sorts for the patrons. When you turn off age at eighteen (Sirius had rolled his eyes at that) the muggles would down 18 shots of the house special brew. If you could still stand afterwards, you could throw a dart at the map. Supposedly, that was where you could go to find the meaning of your life – or so the legend says.

Sirius had thought that it was a rather silly thing for the muggles to do. But then again, muggle things and traditions had always amused him so. It was certainly much better than getting a sodding pocket watch or a signet ring.

But being Sirius, he neither owned a map nor something as drab and as common as throwing darts. He couldn’t exactly go to the bar and _confund_ all the patrons just to throw darts at the map every time he had to decide where he wanted to go. He was quite certain that the Wizengamot would frown upon things like that, what was with breaking the statute of secrecy and all.

In the end, he reasoned that simply choosing a random city following the alphabet would have to suffice.

This method lacked the theatrics, which he loved, but it worked. It was a simple and efficient means to an end. It would have to do. After all, he was starting over as a siren, wasn’t he? Maybe this Sirius wasn’t all about the theatrics anymore. Maybe this Sirius was all about making do in life – muddling through as a freshly minted disgraced heir, scraping by and making the best out of life without a best friend.

He immediately thought of 'C' for Cornwall of course, and of all the summers he had spent there at the Potters’ cottage with James – the traitorous bastard; who’d decided that he’d rather spend his summer with his new _girlfriend_ Evans. Sirius had sneered at the offending g-word in his mind every time James had used it in his near vicinity, which admittedly was far too much and too trying for Sirius’ delicate feelings.

Honestly, if James had not been rather gracious about it all, inviting Sirius to come along to the boyfriend/girlfriend summer retreat there (he was definitely going to fetch up his dinner now), Sirius might have been faring better.

Of course, he was always welcomed to spend the summer at the Potter’s Hampshire estate. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Potter would love having him there, like the lovely people who’ve taught James his impeccable manner were. But, Sirius just couldn’t stomach the pitifulness of tagging along anymore. He needed to make it out there on his own. He needed to carve a place in the world as it were.

From the moment James had told him about his plan for the summer (he shuddered), Sirius had been reduced to a single-minded entity, which to him, presented the advantage of never having to deal with his feelings™.

He’d packed his bag that very night, walked the necessary distance from the Potters’ after a cursory goodbye to the bewildered Mr. and Mrs. Potter (bless their souls) and _apparated_ to his flat in Camden Town that he had bought with the gold that Uncle Alphard had so graciously left for him in his will when he came off age last November.

The first thing he did was make the flat _unplottable_ , and cast an _anti-apparition jinx_ to the whole building as an added measure to prevent anyone but him from _apparating_ in. Try as they might, neither James nor anyone had access anymore to his fortress of solitude.

Credit to James though, who had caught on immediately – having known every single trick in one Sirius Orion Black’s book, and in the interest of preserving their friendship, had consistently owl-ed him daily. Sirius had chucked all these letters straight into his fireplace.

Sirius had gone to 'A' for Aberystwyth's beach on his first stint as a siren and he had been thoroughly disappointed by the slim pickings.

He had spent all but three minutes flat staring at the mucky blue sea and the offending brown sand. He tried to shut out the tirade of loud and boisterous sea gulls there before he decided that nothing the city could offer would be better than getting properly plastered at a pub. Perhaps the one with the funny map (of which he had eloquently dubbed in his head the Map Pub – he hadn’t bothered to find out its proper name), and _apparated_ home.

A wiser man, or anyone with a decent head on their shoulder willing to think, surely would’ve made the deduction that he, Sirius had gotten cold feet. But since Sirius was a person who would rather do, than think, this notion remained unsanctioned.

'B' for Bath had proved to be slightly better, but frightfully still, a bore. He was rather put off by the lack of sea. Affronted really, in his newly assumed role as a pseudo-siren. What took the cake however, was the terribly dull company of posh snobs he met after crawling through a couple of pubs. The pubs were full of bastards who had all been looking forward to _reading_ their degrees in the summer, fresh off public schools, and living their terribly dull lives in a patented nightmare of cashmere sweaters and dinner jackets and sleeping with the help and having terribly dull matrimonially sanctioned intercourse.

He had chosen to tether close to what he was familiar with in the beginning, not wanting to push his limit on his first few forays into the world. But, he was quickly reminded of why he left that world in the first place. It was so distastefully unappealing. _‘Merlin,’_ he thought, _‘they all acted like they were mass produced in a dungeon somewhere.’_

He could’ve sworn that if he squinted his eyes a little bit he could be back home. These people could easily be his awful relatives. He had almost hurled when his mind made the connection to his own incestuous family tree – all brooding posh and haughty faces, arrogant and imperious to boot. Familiar ground was costly and once again, he _apparated_ back home. This time not to the bar with the map but to his own flat’s bathroom – to puke his guts out.

When he was done emptying his stomach and in adjacent, all the unfavourable images of his wretched family, he marched out to the _Waitrose_ down the road, pulling alcohol off the rack at random. He then proceeded to spend the night trying to cauterise all the bleeding thoughts that had resurfaced in regards to his family with drinking.

If he had spent the rest of the night hugging the toilet to throw up again, that was certainly nobody’s business.

Such was the severity of the tragedy that had risen that day, that Sirius had decided: From then on, in his quest as a Siren, the cities must be adjacent to the sea. It was only natural, of course.

***

Sirius knew that technically Cornwall was not a city. But, he couldn’t be arsed to look up for a city that began with the letter C in his slightly hungover state. Off the top of his head, which had taken offense to the copious amount of alcohol he had downed last night, and thus refused to cooperate; he could only think of Cambridge.

Since Cambridge is nowhere near a sea it was out.

He pushed the creeping thought away from his treacherous mind; that maybe he was missing James after all, the sodding tosser, and wanted to be somewhat near him without actually being near him. Instead, he focused on _apparating_ to a beach they had gone countless times in the summers before, not at all wishing he’d stumbled into James.

He reasoned that he’d start easy – and wander around the area that the muggles frequented in the summer by the beach, which should be crawling with boys his age now that school’s off. He was adamant to avoid any bars to sidestep yesterday’s misfortune and he thought perhaps it would all be all right then.

The beach however, had been far too bright and too noisy for his poor state. The bright and happy faces of families with their boisterous and too loud laughter had taken a toll on him after a short while. Thus, he had marched decidedly on the opposite direction of the beach.

It didn’t help that the sun was shining brightly and he had felt out of place at the beach as he was decked in his usual muggle outfit when he wanted to pull – dark ripped skinny jeans, black dragon-hide boots and black tee, coupled with his leather jacket; _his bikers outfit_. In his defence, the whole thing had worked every time. It was not that he hadn’t had the insight to bring any beach appropriate attire either. It was just that all of his swimming trunks were stored in his bedroom at the Potters’ Cottage. Thus, he had given the matter a wide berth.

That was how he ended up chain smoking, perched on a wall that read _Sherton School_ in big gaudy bronze letters. The wall stood near an impressive building, with towers and turrets, and large looming trees in the background that had reminded him dearly of Hogwarts. He was painfully reminded of how much he had been missing Hogwarts that his heart physically ached. Hogwarts was the first place he had truly felt at home. Nowhere and nothing was off limits to Sirius there, a stark contrast to Grimmauld Place, the sodding ancestral home of his family.

He thought dearly of the green and expansive Scottish Highlands closing in the castle ground. The quidditch pitch where he had spent hours training and playing for Gryffindor. The classrooms where he mucked things up for the fun of it as often as he impressed his professors with his prodigal magical prowess.

He thought of his dormitory and how welcoming it was, where there was always fire in the hearth, and his comfortable four poster bed, and of course his friends; the Prewett twin, Longbottom, Kingsley, Dorcas, and Marlene, and most important of all, James who he missed the most despite his recent betrayal.

There, he thought, he would’ve felt at home and safe and better, where everything wasn’t mucky and upside down.

For the first time since that summer, he had felt a little better, being close to this pseudo-Hogwarts and the comforting memory of it no matter how pathetic it sounded. The thought of it had helped to calm his pulsing head a little bit. He had reasoned that no one would chase him off the area, being summer and there was no school in session and all.

Sirius’ muggle knowledge hadn’t of course extended to the fact that there was still summer school in session in some selected parts of the country, despite having taken Muggle Studies in his attempt to further irritate his parents that despised all things muggle.

That had worked splendidly as he had received envelopes after envelopes of howlers from his Mother which had screeched endless insults and threats at him. Sirius had basked in his Mother’s displeasure, silently praying to any deity that might have been listening for an aneurysm rupture; a consolation for him, for all the distress.

Sirius was struck out of his reverie by a loud huffing sound coming from a certain tall lanky stranger walking out of the school building towards the street. Said stranger seemed to be muttering to himself darkly, eyes looking nowhere and lost as he struggled with carrying a stack of books and papers in his hands.

The stranger was wearing a school uniform – long navy blue trousers that looked careworn, white shirt that looked equally rumpled. It was messy and unbuttoned at the top which exposed his sharp collarbones. His tie swung carelessly with the wind and his feet were adorned with a battered pair of _Chuck Taylors_ , and Sirius could feel his interest building.

As the stranger trundled closer, Sirius stared at him unabashedly and started to catalogue his look. A mess of curly light brown hair, long nose and a smattering of freckles across the bridge. His mouth – he had stopped muttering now, was stretched in a firm line. The stranger hadn’t even given Sirius a glance – he looked far too lost in his own head.

 _‘How endearing,’_ Sirius had thought as he smiled to himself. He had quite like the hair and the freckles and the pretty face. Also, wanting to touch the boy’s messy curls had jumped to Sirius’ list of things to do immediately.

The fact that the boy looked considerably taller didn’t hurt either. Sirius had always wanted to push a good looking stranger against a wall, plant his hands by their side, lean in close and stand on his tiptoes to kiss them into oblivion. For now, he’d settle with maybe a chance of talking to them.

Sirius licked his lips in anticipation and muttered a spell under his breath. The boy’s shoelaces unravelled. Sirius waited a tick and tried not to smile as the tall lanky stranger tumbled and sprawled out right in front of him, books and papers flying everywhere; his palms scraping against the pavement trying to break his fall.

 _‘How very Slytherin of me. If only Mother could see me now,’_ he thought darkly, and quickly banished the thought.

Sirius schooled his expression into his signature look of boredom and disdain as he continued to smoke.

The stranger had slowly and painfully tried to sit up. A frown and a scowl were exhibited plainly on his face; but his eyes no longer had that far-fetched look, they just looked _sad and empty_. Sirius had thought that maybe the boy would be angry or cuss or something. Instead, he was disturbingly quiet and forlorn and resigned.

The boy just sat there, legs akimbo and _was doing nothing_. He hadn’t done anything to acknowledge that he had gone arse over tit in front of a stranger – _‘especially a dishy bloke like me,’_ Sirius had thought; for he was quite offended at the lack of reaction (read:attention to him) to be honest. The stranger hadn’t even wiped off the blood on his scraped palms.

Sirius had started to worry. Had he accidentally made a Siren call ( _if that_ ) and ( _accidentally_ ) hypnotised this boy? Surely he hadn’t broken him already? Sirius wanted to scream. Who in their right mind would just sit there after a mighty fall in front of a stranger? Especially someone as pretty as Sirius?

Also, Sirius hadn’t met a single teenage boy who didn’t curse at the slightest inconvenience. His worry had grown into concern and progressed to guilt and he didn’t want to spiral in front of a muggle of all people so he pulled himself together. _‘I’m not here for that – I’m a siren for Godric’s sake, on a mission to pull!’_

“All right?” Sirius asked lazily, finally, in a voice void of concern. He had after all learned poise and decorum and conduct of propriety at his Mother’s knee, the matriarch of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

The stranger slowly turned his head to look at Sirius. His forehead was still stuck in a frozen crease, face scowling deeply, lips still set in a thin white line while his unblinking forest green eyes met Sirius’. He still hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made a move to collect his books and papers, some of which had been blown away by an untimely summer breeze.

Sirius felt disarmed, like he was under scrutiny and maybe this muggle boy knew that Sirius was guilty of being a moronic arse. The boy cocked his head to the side slowly and started to take Sirius in. He had started to stare brazenly and openly, never mind the fact that he was sitting awkwardly on the pavement, especially with his gashed and bleeding palms.

He made Sirius want to crawl out of his own skin and give it a thorough wash and start over. _‘Who is this person?’_ Sirius thought, panic bubbling in his throat. No one had ever looked at him like that. No one had ever held the full glorious gaze of one Sirius Orion Black and survived. They had all succumbed to his unearthly beauty and brilliance.

This boy hadn’t even blinked.

While Sirius’ mind flew a couple hundred miles a minute, his brain had failed to register that the boy had finally said something back at him.

“What?” Sirius asked, stupidly. Sense and decorum be damned. Let the departed Blacks roll in their graves.

“I said, can I bum a fag?” the boy repeated in a monotone. The boy was still staring at Sirius; his left eyebrow had cocked up and Sirius’ eyes had finally been granted the audience to the full view of the boy’s full sultry red lips, which had slightly parted at the end of the question.

 _‘Merlin, help me, I want to lick those lips. I bet he's the sort that like it rough and bitten,’_ Sirius thought lewdly while staring openly at them.

He had not realised that he was chewing his own lips in his arousal, mind clouded in thinking how good the boy’s lips would feel against his’, or his skin, or any body parts really, he wasn’t that picky.

Something carnal and primal had blossomed in Sirius’ gut.

“Oi, mate!” the boy tried again and snapped Sirius out of his thoughts.

“Uh yeah. Okay. Uh,” Sirius bumbled spectacularly, while trying and failing to clear his throat and to steady his voice. “Uh come on me then. Bugger. I mean, come with me. Oh, sod it, just come up here,” he replied in a pitchy voice to the now cackling stranger on the pavement.

Sirius, who had been acting like a tit and a half, or maybe even a deranged first class moron – he hadn’t decided – continued to blush profusely. _‘Oh, buggering fuck.’_

All his self-proclaimed suave had left him.

Gone was the heartthrob of the Gryffindor tower, which was a reputation rivalled by none, ever since he first stepped foot at Hogwarts.

Gone was the smooth-talking fucker, who was so silver tongued.

Sirius had once talked Professor Slughorn, Head of the Slytherin House, into agreeing with him that the Marauders (it was a solo mission of just him) demolishing half the dungeon and the Slytherin common room was a great opportunity for the Slytherins to carry out a full-blown renovation to it.

_'Did Professor Slughorn need to send him off to detention for something done in the Slytherins best interest? – No, Sirius did not think so.'_

McGonagall, who knew that Sirius was a gobshite through and through, had given him detention for a month straight and took 50 points from Gryffindor. James had gone absolutely mental at him for losing the points they had just won from a Ravenclaw-Gryffindor quidditch match. Rather hypocritical of him, Sirius thought, considering that he had mucked up as much trouble as Sirius, being Marauders and all.

It had all been Evans, of course, the unquestionable source of logic and reason that had corrupted his best mate.

Now though, on this stretch of summer right smack in the middle of all mundane muggle-ness, all that was left was a husk of a slightly blushing boy perched on a wall, sitting next to a smirking stranger.

 _‘Serves me right for acting like a right cunt,’_ Sirius thought. Maybe he wasn’t a siren. Maybe he was some stunted up troll or something equally daft.

In a minute flat of being in the near vicinity of this beautiful creature, Sirius had been stripped off his layers of carefully built persona, all the façade and tirade he had adopted. Sirius was on edge and he felt raw.

It took all of Sirius’ willpower to remember that he was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were a bunch of courageous fuckers and they definitely did not give up after a cock up despite having been embarrassed to their core in front of a boy who hadn’t even made the effort to look slightly abashed by the absurdness of it all.

Sirius sighed inwardly and took out his cigarette case that he had liberated from one of the old cabinets in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place before he fucked off for good. It was solid silver and embroidered with the House of Black emblem in emeralds – Slytherin colours, as were a lot of the heirlooms. It was silly but it had felt good when he had nicked them, knowing that he was tainting the _‘Toujours Pur’_ motto with the sheer muggle-ness of smoking muggle cigarettes; and if the habit killed him, so much the better.

Sirius forced himself to focus on the process of taking out the cigarette out of the case in an effort to calm his traitorous heart that was beating erratically.

James had given him so much shite for smoking. _‘Those will kill you, Pads,’_ James had said repeatedly, and to which Sirius had shrugged off. He was here for a good time and not for a long time. Besides, would death be really bad as compared to being an (ex)heir to the darkest wizarding family that had ever existed?

Brushing that thought aside, he handed the cigarette to the boy sitting next to him.

The boy reached out and plucked it out of Sirius’ hand. Sirius’ long slender fingers brushed against his still bleeding palm. Sirius felt like he had been singled out by the sky above, and struck by lightning. He was taken aback with the whirling pool of lust in his belly, and there was only desire and want running in his bloodstream. _‘It’s just a bit of skin. Merlin,’_ he thought.

“Got a light?” the boy asked.

Sirius nodded absently. His mind was still stuck in a limbo of lust and insanity. His whole body strummed with animalistic want and need to just grab the boy by his hand, kiss the pain away, and shove him hard against that tree behind them, and arch forward against him and use his lips to count the freckles on the boy’s cheeks.

Then, Sirius would use his teeth and tongue to smatter blooming bruises on his long slender neck all the way to that delicious collarbone and touch, and touch everywhere; lips sampling and exploring every inch of his skin, stroking and squeezing anything and everything between their entwining limbs.

 _‘– who’s to say I’ve escaped the hereditary insanity, eh?’_ Sirius thought and struggled to suppress a building moan – _‘honestly, why am I so turned on?!’_

He ran his hand through his hair for something to do, trying desperately to calm his breathing that was becoming louder and he absent-mindedly snapped his finger to light up the boy’s cigarette.

_‘Motherfucker.’_

“Cheers,” said the boy.

The boy, to his credit, didn’t even bat an eyelid and proceeded to smoke languidly. He had seemingly taken everything in stride and he acted like it was an everyday occurrence for him to share a cigarette with a stranger, who had lit it up with a snap of his fingers, right in front of his school, with his books and papers strewn about them, left to the mercy of the wind.

He had drawn one knee up, hugged it with his still bloodied palm and continued his tirade of staring into nothingness as Sirius sat next to him, shaking with pure nerves, jaw dropped, cigarette forgotten, trying not to succumb into insanity, thinking – _‘what the buggering fuck had I’ve gotten myself into?’_

***

After a couple of minutes of self-meditation that seemed like aeons, Sirius took his stock and decided that he was too far gone to just end this right there and then. It wouldn’t do to just give up on the one shimmering chance of making his summer bearable by not fucking around with this – this _enigma_ of a person.

 _‘Or just fucking,’_ that hormonal 17-year-old part of his brain countered.

If that didn’t turn out to be the case, it was alright. Sirius could take the piss. He couldn’t just do _nothing_. He was Sirius Black, he reasoned. Sirius Black could take on an enigma and live to tell the tale, _carpe diem_ and all that.

“I’m Sirius Black,” he started.

 _“Serious?_ At least give us a believable fake name,” the stranger replied with a scoff and his mouth pulled into half a sneer. He still hadn’t even given Sirius the courtesy of speaking to his face since the stare-down earlier.

“No. That’s my name. Sirius, like the star,” Sirius insisted. Exasperatedly. He tapped his cigarette nervously against the wall, wanting to give his hands something to do. They weren’t to be trusted around this beautiful stranger. Sirius was agitated.

This was the first time he had had this issue. He wouldn’t have this problem anywhere in the wizarding world. No, the Blacks were too well known for his own good and no one would dare to challenge his name. Even if he’d been christened something equally ridiculous and barmy like Saint Black or Stormy Black everyone would’ve just nodded along.

“What?” the stranger asked with a disgruntled voice. Huffing.

“You know, _the star_ s. Those sparkly things in the sky at night. Sirius is the brightest one!” Sirius tried again, slightly wincing inwardly at his poor choice of words. He was aware that he was being a right tit.

“Yeah, no. I know what the stars are, _dickhead_ ,” he said as he finally turned to look at Sirius, scowling, obviously displeased at Sirius’ abased condescending.

“Oh, come on. Like yours is any better! Lupin is the wolf constellation!” Sirius said exasperatedly, gesturing his hand wildly to one of the books strewn about which had _Remus Lupin_ clearly printed on it in big block letters of messy writing. Sirius had thought that was rather cute. _'_ _Cute? Who even was he anymore??'_

Sirius was also well aware of the fact that he had cocked up worse in five minutes total as compared to the six whole years of James making an arse of himself trying to impress Lily.

Remus looked at him nonplussed and said, “Honestly, _mate_ , I don’t think I’ve met anyone, especially boys my age who know astrology.”

Sirius groaned impatiently and countered, “Not astrology. Astronomy! Honestly you’re hanging around the wrong sort. Anybody decent would know basic astronomy! They have practical applications in life!”

Of course, Sirius was speaking from a place where those obtusely unaware live. He was also ridiculously ignorant to the fact that muggles hold no sort of candles to Hogwarts’ choice of curriculum.

“Well I’m not a 16th- bloody century sailor, am I? Besides, as you can see, I’m not exactly swimming with friends here.” Remus replied coldly and went back to his smoke. He was back to his stoic, unreadable expression.

Sirius had to try very hard not to gape and was about to stutter about the different merits of Astrology and Astronomy when he started to wonder if Remus was having him on. So, he bit his tongue and decided to deal with this whole mess the only way he knew how. He would fuck worse shit up.

So, he stubbed his cigarette carefully on the wall, flicked the butt on the curb, jump off the wall to ground it with the heel of his left boot to buy time. Also, let's be honest. He couldn’t afford to have another fire-related incident to his name. Not when he was trying to figure out an enigma and he wasn’t talking to James. He bent down and started to pick up all the books and papers that were strewn on the ground. He could see from the very edge of his vision that Remus was watching him then, so Sirius was very careful not to look at Remus' direction. Whatever reputation he could salvage, right?

Once he had collected all the books in a pile, he straightened up and held them under his left arm. He walked up to Remus and held out his right hand in front of Remus. He looked up to Remus’ bewildered face and flashed the full force of his patented Sirius Black grin, hoping desperately it would work on this enigma. He cocked one of his eyebrows up in a terrible imitation of Remus and said, “Well, come on then.”

Remus stared at him.

When Remus said nothing, Sirius tried again. Slowly. His stupidly beautiful grin didn’t even falter. Remus didn’t know that Sirius desperately wanted this. How badly he needed _this_.

Remus reached out his hand tentatively. Remus had a funny thought in his brain that Sirius was acting like Remus was some sort of daft sluggish manatee stuck on land and Sirius was trying to lure him back to the sea, or his death. He wasn’t sure.

“Come on,” Sirius had said again, kinder and softer this time. His hand was still outstretched. That impossibly gorgeous grin seemed to draw Remus in. Sirius didn’t even try to close the distance between them. His hand was where it was.

 _‘Well, fuck it, ~~what do I have to lose anyway,'~~_ Remus thought as he extended his hand to close the gap between them and grasped Sirius’ hand in his. His brain had a split second to register how soft and smooth Sirius’ hand was, but nothing more, because he had stumbled into darkness and nothing.

He shut his eyes closed, as he felt every cubic meter of his body being seemingly squeezed into a tiny subspace in matter and he barely had the time to think _‘– what in the name of all that is holy is going on?,’_ before the sensation was over and done for and he found himself slammed on all fours onto a plush, soft carpeted floor.

Remus barfed all over it and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Chapter title is a song by Years & Years 
> 
> Poem is “Demain dès l’aube” by Victor Hugo
> 
> _Waitrose_ is a brand of a rather _~~fancy~~_ British supermarkets. 
> 
> ***


	2. Oh, Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads in fires, a triumphant monster in a chest cavity, and crescent moons on palms.

When death is the greatest danger,  
we hope for life;  
but when we learn to know the even greater danger,  
we hope for death.  
When the danger is so great that death becomes the hope,  
then despair is the hopelessness of not being able to die.

☾

When Remus started to regain his consciousness, he felt like he was peering through a wall of hazy memory. There was something odd about it. Something he couldn’t quite put his fingers on had happened. In his dream-like state, he started to drift in and out of consciousness. He could barely register that he was lying down somewhere. He could feel soft rug brushing against his palms and he absent-mindedly let it run through his fingers.

There was someone talking, a voice he thought he _recognised_ but no names had came attached to it. That person was talking, no, _arguing_ with someone. Remus thought that he had heard his name mentioned. He peeled open his stubborn eyelids and he couldn’t help but wonder, _‘where am I?’_ He looked around to see that he was in a living room of sorts. It was dark so he couldn’t tell for certain.

Remus tried to sit up, but his head felt very heavy. It felt like he was trying to swim in a sea of custard. His curiosity got the better of him as he heard his name mentioned again, and craned his neck to the only source of light in the room – a fireplace.

There was a boy there, kneeling, close by the fire. Remus had thought that he seemed familiar. But Remus couldn’t know for sure, he’d got to get a better look at his face. But the boy had his back to Remus, so he was not sure.

If only that boy would stop talking to the fire and move his head up a bit so Remus could see from where Remus was, for the boy's long wavy black hair was covering his face– but no such luck.

So, Remus mustered all his remaining strength to stretch his neck a bit further and what he had caught sight of was a reality so bizarre and one of which he couldn’t wrap his mind onto. _‘– the boy was not talking into the fire, his head was **IN** the fire.’_

Remus passed out for the second time that day.

***

Remus was shaken awake for school the next morning by his mum. Remus thought this was rather odd. His mum had never woken him up. His mum had certainly never even cared if he was up or about. In fact, his mum had never even given him the time of day. But there was no one else in their house but the two of them. So, it must've been her.

 _‘Maybe this is a new delirium,’_ Remus thought. Remus knew just what to do with these hallucinations. Remus had to reason with it – that was what prescribed anyway! _‘Hah!’_ Remus snickered loudly when he thought about his sad excuse of a justification again. _‘My mum, caring for me.’_

 _‘Hah!’_ Remus scoffed at the thought again. _‘Not even when pigs fly.’_ But the insistent hallucination didn’t stop when Remus had thrown logic at it. His mum wouldn’t stop shaking him. _‘There is something funny about this,’_ he thought. He was about to open his eyes when he heard that voice again. It wasn’t his mum. He frowned, but he couldn’t stop laughing now. _‘My mum caring about me! That’s peak humour, that.’_

“Oi mate! Would you stop laughing and wake up?” a voice said.

It was laced with worry and concern. Remus thought that he had quite liked the voice. It was soft and dulcet. _‘Euphonious,’_ Remus thought again; and it was all that it took for the monster residing in Remus’ chest to stir awake – more alive than Remus was and ever would, and stomp all over Remus’ heart.

_‘euphonious’, the monster said, all mockingly, voice dripped with poison. ‘pretty big word for a sodding excuse of a human being, don’t you think? why don’t you jump off a bridge somewhere eh, beasty? see if your big word makes you feel human then.'_

Remus started to shudder. His eyes were still shut, and he pulled both of his knees to his chest, and tried to hug himself with his clenched fists. Remus had tried to justify this, but no coherent thought had come to mind.

He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember what he was supposed to do if rationalising his hallucination wouldn’t work. Had his psychiatrist told him of another thing to do if that hadn’t worked? He was not sure. His memory hadn’t always been the best anyway. His mind had started to slip past the edge of reality, as the monster in his chest roared in triumph, dancing and chanting their rude and vulgar thoughts in a very explicit manner – of how **it** thought Remus should off himself. Remus didn’t want to tear up, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want the monster to win. He really didn’t, _he swore it_. His grip tightened and he could feel his fingernails breaking the skin of his palms – to draw blood. The physical pain anchored him to the world, giving him some fractured reality to hold onto.

He wasn’t certain that his mum – _‘no, that was not my mum.’_ There were nimble fingers that were decidedly _not-his-mom_ pried his hands open. Slowly, and carefully. The hands felt warm against his cold clammy ones. Whomever they belonged to, the hands didn’t let go. Instead, they were holding him.

There was that voice again. Calling his name.

Remus didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted this episode to end. He wanted to ride out this hallucination – tire it out. He was exhausted.

“Remus?” the voice called out to him again.

It was far too kind. Not the sort to be concocted out of his mind then, so Remus steeled himself and opened his eyes warily. His eyes met a pair of grey ones. _‘Pretty,’_ Remus thought. He didn’t want to overexert himself. He could still hear the monster stomping about his chest cavity.

Remus stared and stared and wondered what could’ve made the eyes look so _desolate_. At once, the monster’s voice had doubled in volume. Remus winced, and squeezed his eyes shut to bear the pain of the sound of chanting that had flooded his head once again.

_‘desolate worthless desolate loony desolate psycho euphonious spastic euphonious mad euphonious loopy desolate disturbed desolate nutter desolate euphonious crazy euphonious loony desolate loopy desolate possessed desolate mental desolate desolate …’_

It didn’t work, shutting his eyes. Instead, it made him want to find a nice sharp knife and poke at his brain and carve out the crazy part and die happy. Or at the very least poke around his chest with it so that the monster could be gone for good. Remus had forgotten about the boy. _The boy._

Remus opened his eyes.

The boy – his name was a fleeting memory in Remus’ mind now – was still staring down at Remus’ face. His beautiful face was now graced with worry and concern. Remus wanted to reach out and smooth out the crease between his eyes, but he couldn’t. The boy was still holding onto Remus’ bleeding hands.

For some odd reason, Remus had a fleeting thought he had imagined the boy. He seemed so ethereal. There was something about him though, but Remus couldn’t remember. His mind was too busy thinking about that knife and shutting it all down for good. If Remus hadn’t been watching the boy’s face, he wouldn’t have believed that the boy had said his name again.

“Remus,” the boy said. His voice was far too sad. Remus didn’t like the sound of it. He was far too beautiful to be sad.

The boy let go of Remus’ hand and used his thumb to wipe tears that were streaming down Remus’ face. _‘Oh,’_ Remus thought, sharp and crudely. He hadn’t realised that he was crying. Remus had almost shuddered at the contact, and he would have, if he had even an ounce of energy left to deal with all the fuckery happening.

The boy stood up slowly, eyes still on Remus’ and asked in a quiet voice, “tea?”

Remus didn’t answer and the boy didn’t wait for one as he went to the kitchen, Remus supposed, to make tea.

It felt like his soul was being drained out methodically until there was nothing else but the void of emotion. He couldn’t make it stop even if he wanted to. So, he let it be, as he continued to lie down on the rug, staring at the ceiling, unmoving as he waited for the storm to pass. He was grateful that the room was dark and he couldn’t be distracted by details. In fact, everything was dark here. Remus had liked the dark very much. Maybe the boy was like Remus – the light would be far too sterile and clean and _good_ for him.

Time must have passed as the boy had come back from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. He didn’t ask this time, as he helped Remus up and leaned against one of the sofas and put the mug of tea in Remus’ hand. Remus was grateful for the warmth the tea provided. Remus was so cold and tired.

The boy sat in front of him. Remus stared blankly forward. His eyes were so blurry it hurt. He didn’t know if he had stopped crying or not. It was hard to tell when you couldn’t feel your own face. He was _so_ tired. He couldn’t figure this out. His head ached horribly. He was ready for this to be over now.

_‘Don’t I have a knife earlier? Where is it? Would the boy mind if I borrow one from his kitchen? He must have one in the kitchen – that’s where the tea had came from. Tea. Smells nice. Milky and sweet.’_

“Remus,” the boy said Remus’ name again. Remus didn’t like his voice now. He hated that the boy kept saying _his name_. Remus didn’t know _his_ name. Remus didn’t keep saying his name. Remus frowned at the boy. _‘Would he stop?’_ Remus thought. It bothered Remus. Remus wanted to say it out loud but he was tired and his throat felt scratchy.

“You all right?” the boy asked.

Remus didn’t like this. Why wouldn’t he be alright? Oh, right. The tears. People cry when they are sad. The boy thought he was sad. That was bad. Bad thought. Remus wasn’t sad. He was tired because his brain hurt him earlier. The monster was yelling at him. He was tired and he wanted the monster gone. That was why he cried.

Remus didn’t know if saying _‘I’m alright’_ was the truth so he mustn’t say. The monster would have a field day with him lying.

Lying would be bad.

Lying would bring more pain.

Lying would bring bad thoughts.

Remus didn’t _want_ any bad thoughts.

The boy was still looking at Remus. Remus stared at him. Considering. He couldn’t tell the boy his brain had hurt him. He couldn’t tell the boy about the monster in his chest. No. That’d be a bad thing. Telling people these things would be bad.

People didn’t like things that they couldn’t see. They would say that he was lying and lying would be bad. Remus cocked his head to the side and considered. People didn’t like things they couldn’t understand. They would call Remus bad names for making things up and the monster in Remus’ chest would love that.

The monster had always loved it when people said new mean things to Remus.

He’d chant it extra loud for an extra long time.

Remus didn’t like that.

The boy had stopped looking at Remus. He was now looking at Remus’s hand. He still looked very sad and Remus didn’t like that. The boy was now holding a small towel in his hand. Remus hadn’t seen when he had gone and gotten the towel. Maybe he had gone and got it and while he was waiting for Remus to say something. He had now taken one of Remus’ hands and he was using the towel to clean it. _‘Oh,’_ Remus had thought. Remus must have been very rude and didn’t clean his hands before he held the boy’s mug and it had gotten dirty. _‘That must be why the boy’s so upset.’_

Oh, Remus had been a very bad person indeed. Mother would be _very_ disappointed in Remus.

At the thought of his mother Remus had snickered again. Had he really thought that _mother cared for him_. Remus wanted to bust a gut laughing – and so he did. He laughed and laughed.

The boy looked up to him with his sad grey eyes and Remus didn’t like it. Remus didn’t like it at all. Remus had to tell him that he was sorry. But Remus didn’t even know who he was. Remus could not make a proper apology without knowing the person’s name. Remus had known that much. Mother had had to beat that into his brain enough for him to remember that. Remus had had to make so many apologies before for being rude and telling lies. Remus had to. He had to do good things to be good or mother would have been upset. Remus didn’t like it when mother was upset.

Remus shuddered at the thought and looked down at their hands to distract himself. The boy had put the mug of tea down and was now cleaning Remus’ other hand. The towel was stained red now, and Remus was so very sorry. He had been very rude – his hands were very dirty.

Oh, Remus didn’t like this.

Remus mustn’t upset him.

Remus must apologise.

But to who?

“Who’re you?” Remus asked before he could stop himself. Remus winced at his own rudeness and waited for the blow.

The boy looked up to Remus’ face, and he looked amused, almost. But the look was gone in a fraction and his face was carefully blank now. Remus didn’t know if Remus had done the right thing. But the boy didn’t look that upset anymore. He was still holding Remus’ hand even though he had finished cleaning them. He was looking at them. Remus wished he’d let them go. His hands hurt.

But he didn’t want to be more rude.

That would be very bad.

Mother would’ve bashed Remus’ head through the wall by now if she’d been around.

Remus shivered and squeezed his eyes shut and waited – for the pain.

But the blow didn’t come. Remus opened his eyes.

Instead, the boy put Remus’ hand down carefully and smiled sadly at Remus.

“I’m Sirius. Like the star,” he had said.

Remus did not understand this. “How can the stars be serious?” Remus asked with a frown. He didn’t like it if this boy was making fun of him. Remus knew that he was stupid and that was why mother had put down his name for summer school. That was why mother had to give Remus thorough beating ups to put some sense into him.

The boy had only laughed at him in response. Remus hated this boy. He was just like all the others at school. All in the same league with the monster in his chest. Remus had only tried to be nice and asked who he was to apologise. The boy stood up and was now pulling Remus to his feet by Remus’ arms. He smiled at Remus, kindly now. Remus wanted to be angry again, but the others hadn’t smiled at Remus like this.

Remus didn’t know what to do, so he stared at the boy. Remus was tired and Remus didn’t like this but the boy was smiling so warmly and kindly at Remus and Remus decided that he would’ve followed him to the edge of the world.

The boy pulled at Remus’ left hand lightly. “Come on, I’ll show you,” he said softly, and brought Remus through the darkened hallway that led to the kitchen. The kitchen was only lit up by lights from the outside. The boy hadn’t bothered to put on any light at all and Remus could barely see and Remus didn’t want to be rude and point it out. He gestured at Remus to sit on the windowsill of one of the large windows. He pointed up at the night sky and Remus could see that there was a crescent moon up there.

Remus didn’t like the moon. It had always unnerved him. But Remus didn’t want to be rude anymore and so he continued looking up.

“That up there is Cygnus,” the boy had said, as he pointed to a cluster of stars that looked like a crooked ‘t’. Remus gaped and looked at where he pointed. He was still trying to work it out if the boy was still upset and if he needed to apologise. _‘If only the boy had gotten around to saying his name.’_

But the boy had continued talking, unaware of Remus’ inner monologue.

“Cygnus is my great great grandfather. It is a tradition in my family to have names like the stars. You can’t see me from here, but on a clear night in winter or spring, you can find me. Look up South, you’ll find Canis Major. That’s the constellation that has a star with my name, Sirius. I’m the brightest star in the sky,” the boy – Sirius had said with a smile on his face to Remus.

Remus figured that he was no longer in trouble now and stood up. He looked eagerly up the night sky and wondered if he could see more of Sirius’ family up there. But now that he was looking properly, he realised that he didn’t recognise the surrounding buildings. He also knew for a fact that there was no bleeding grimy river anywhere near his town. Remus looked around, to regain his bearing and saw on the far end of the street a huge looming building with the words ‘CAMDEN LOCK’, written on it in giant gold letters.

Remus panicked. _‘Fuck. Sodding. Buggering. Fuck.’_

“Where the _fuck_ are we?” Remus, who had always had trouble holding his tongue, turned to look right at Sirius and demanded.

A dark look of guilt perhaps flitted through Sirius’ features. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

“We’re in my flat in London,” Sirius replied easily.

“How the _fuck_ did we get here?” Remus asked with force, eyes squinting at Sirius. Daring him to lie. He had grabbed the front of Sirius’ shirt with his hands and he was glad that he had the advantage of being taller than Sirius because by god, he was furious right now and he didn’t even know why. Remus was always ready for a fight. Fuck his shoddy memory honestly. It would’ve been sweeter if Remus could remember the why and the what. But let's face it, he was not picky as long as he could let his fists fly.

Sirius’ hand moved slowly to untangle Remus’s hand from his shirt, and Remus looked down to see Sirius’ dainty fingers moving, just in case he tried something and Remus was distracted when he saw that there were fresh pink scars on his palms, four on each in the crescent shape like the moon above with some criss cross of gashes.

For the life of him he couldn’t figure out where he’d got them. They looked new, but he was good yesterday. He went to school and had gone straight home. _‘How would you know it was yesterday?’_ his mind taunted. _‘How would you know how much time had passed since you had gotten here?’_

He didn’t want to ask _Sirius_ ; Remus didn’t even know if he could trust him! Come to think of it, he was not sure. He hadn’t even known Sirius’ name until a few minutes ago, and he knew he shouldn’t trust his memory. Of course not! Had he truly had no other memory of Sirius apart from those starting _today_? Remus got lost in his eternal battle between his reality and his memory and that he was taken aback when he realised that he was still staring at these new scars. There was something very odd about them but he didn’t know what. When he blinked, he saw instead crescent moons and stars blinking at him, which were, up until a moment ago, were shining in the night sky – now on his palms.

Remus wanted to cry and he stumbled back to the windowsill, sitting down and trying not to freak out.

Sirius, who Remus presumed was watching this whole scene warily (hah!) was now next to him, and he handed Remus his mug of unfinished tea and without thinking, Remus drained the whole lot down.

That was the last thing he remembered.

***

The next morning Remus woke up in his own bed with a foggy memory of a beautiful boy, with stormy grey eyes and long wavy ink-black hair. For some unfathomable reason, Remus’ memory had convinced him that the boy had shown him the heavens above and proceeded to throw himself down the fiery pit of hell right after.

Throughout this commotion, Remus had appeared nonplussed and was busy whittling crescent shaped moons and stars all over his hands and legs with a very big and very sharp knife. The blood that had flowed down his skin was golden instead of red and he had been very upset about it the most. He didn’t care for the screams and tears of the beautiful boy in the fire, he was too busy staring at the golden ochre flooding around him.

Remus shook this memory aside and chalked it off as one of his more realistic hallucinations and refused to check his body for new scars. _‘There’s no point to that,’_ Remus countered sensibly. Instead, he went about things the logical, rational sort of way. Remus got out of his bed and padded across the room to his study desk and swallowed two chalky purple pills of Epilim dry and switched on his pathetically old desktop computer and played _Rebel Rebel_ at full volume to drown the thoughts in his head before he went about getting ready for school.

If his neighbours complained about Remus’ music to his mum again, well, Remus couldn’t find himself to care. There was nothing left that _she_ could do that he couldn’t stomach anymore. The clock had shown 8.14 when Remus left home, and he knew he would be late, and he hadn’t done any of the assignments, having fallen asleep immediately after getting back from school yesterday.

He knew that he’d be held back at school again. But in all honesty, he didn’t care.

It made no difference where he spent his time. The classroom or his bedroom – they were both four walls that confined him.

When Remus was finally allowed to leave that evening, it was well past four in the afternoon. Remus didn't mind the after-school detention that much, having had one every day since the start of the summer – not finishing his reading, or assignments or acting like he didn't exist in class. The only class he had bothered with was Art. The other classes gave him a headache. Anyhow, most of the teachers had been decent and left him to his own devices; to read or to stare at the wall. But some of the teachers were just pure unadulterated evil.

The one Remus had today had left him thoroughly fuming. Mr Nelly, the pudgy PE teacher on duty for the day’s detention had announced that for today, all of them ruddy delinquents – meaning _Remus_ – for he was the only one there, were to have the detention at the field, where the rugby practice he was supervising was held. Remus couldn’t very well skive off considering there was only him. So, he had to do laps in his now manky school uniform since he didn’t have his PE kit. To add insult to his injury, that bleeding codger had dared suggest that the fresh air would do Remus good, what with him looking pale and wobbly on his feet, that flaming _sadist_.

What had taken the cake was Mr Nelly had waffled on and on about Remus’ poor technique and posture while he stood there looking like a salad dodger himself personified, as Remus ran lap after lap. The rugby team had thought that watching a skinny boy make a fool of himself doing laps in their uniform was a right laugh and had proceeded to join in and taunt and mock Remus as he gritted his teeth and vowed he’d never give them the satisfaction of getting to him and got on with it, _stiff upper lip and all that_.

Even Remus, who was rather generous with his fists would’ve thought twice before going against an entire rugby team.

He stomped home in a bit of a strop after, wishing desperately that he lived somewhere that had a conveniently tall looming cliff to jump off from and end all of this easily. That was currently number one on his favourite list of how to top himself, with drowning in a clear blue lake being a close second. Remus had pondered extensively on the novelty of it – the last thing he’d see would be a grand view of the disappointing world and that would be a nice _poetic-justice-bow_ to tie at the end of his existence.

He was so lost in his mind that he didn’t notice that he had walked past that stretch of wall with the school’s nameplate on it. He had also missed the fact that there was a boy there, who had been waiting for Remus all day long and hadn’t let go of the sight of him since he walked out of the school’s front door.

Remus had walked right past him, and wouldn’t even notice it if the boy hadn’t jumped down in haste and grabbed Remus’ arm.

“Hey.”

Remus stopped in his tracks and considered if this was part of his hallucination. He could feel those fingers on his arm, and that voice. He had known it, it seemed. Curiosity got the better of him. Remus spun around to look at the offending person in his space. All of him was there, that boy from his dream/hallucination this morning/night (Remus was still undecided) – grey eyes, black hair, and those rosy lips on his stunning almond skin. His _worrying_ , lovely face, Remus added privately. He didn’t have that shimmering quality on the edges.

So, he was real then. Remus wasn’t completely sure if he had made him up.

For reasons Remus couldn’t bother to process, the very sight of this boy wound up Remus very much. If there was one thing Remus could be certain was doing himself the disservice of not believing in his own gut – and not trusting it. His memory might’ve been shoddy at best, but _intuition is a mental matching game_ , and by god, _his_ was primal.

The boy had continued to look at Remus like he was going to topple over at any moment, and Remus was going to lose it. He shook the boy’s hand off his arm and tried to give the boy a stare down. Honestly, who does this boy think he was, grabbing at a stranger – especially one that looked as dangerous as Remus – like that. _‘Does he have a death wish or something?’_ Remus thought in his head and scowled. The boy had the audacity to look indifferent and now, now Remus was going to let him have it.

“Piss off,” Remus spat at him and walked off.

“Remus, wait. It’s me, Sirius. I just want to know if you’re all right,” the boy had said while he continued to go after Remus.

 _‘Sirius like the star?’_ Remus' mind offered at him, a shoddy piece of something he should have known. But the overbearing act was overwhelming and all Remus wanted to do was to give him a right shiner on his beautiful, stupid face.

“Remus,” the boy – Sirius had called out his name again, with a slight tightness to his tone this time. Almost like desperation. But that would be odd, so Remus dismissed the thought. Instead, Remus acted like he had heard nothing and continued to walk in the direction of his home, doubling his steps, and trying to hurry away.

“Remus, at least let me look at your hands,” Sirius continued and Remus stopped in his tracks.

_‘– My hands? What does this boy know about my hands and the dreams about the moons and the stars and the heavens above and the fiery hell?’_

The boy caught up with him and grabbed his hands again.

Remus let him.

Sirius’ hands had felt soft and warm against Remus’ and Sirius was touching him with so much gentleness and grace that Remus was taken aback. He felt disarmed, somehow and all his rage had seemed to recede. Sirius was now holding Remus’ palm open, and looking at it forlornly. There was a tightness in his chest earlier that urged Remus to flee but it was gone; replaced by want.

Remus’ heart didn’t want the boy to let go of him, not yet. Remus didn’t know what to make of it.

“Are you hungry?” Sirius asked, eyes still on Remus’ hands. Remus let his touch linger.

Remus shrugged nonchalantly. Unfortunately, his stomach chose that very moment to strike a mutiny and growled ostentatiously loud.

Sirius, who still hadn’t let go of Remus’ hands, finally looked up. His face was etched with worry. He had now gazed openly at Remus, all pretence dropped and Remus could read him easily – sad, and worried. Why, though? – that Remus didn’t know.

“Come on then,” Sirius had said simply as he gave Remus’ hand a gentle tug and Remus followed.

They walked side by side holding hands, back towards the direction of the school. Remus’ heart ached at the sheer delicateness of it all. A warmth had started to grow in the void of Remus’ heart and he felt lost and he had drawn up blank as he couldn’t put a finger on the _a-m-a-l-a-g-a-m_ of emotions which had started only to crystallise. Remus didn’t dare say it as he was afraid that the monster would be back and dance and stomp all over this – this new _something of want_ that he felt strangely protective of. He wanted to preserve and hold on to it as long as he could.

It felt different, and strange, but it wasn’t bad.

Remus didn’t realise that they had stopped walking, and were then standing next to an all-black, gleaming motorcycle. The motorcycle had looked like a right beast; all nice and shiny with the words _Royal Enfield_ stamped on its body in polished chrome. Remus gave this a thought in his head. _‘Why are they looking at this bike again? Does this boy – Sirius,’_ Remus corrected privately, _‘expect me to nab it? Just because I look like a right bovver?’_

That was right, Remus knew what he looked like – what was with his scars from fighting all those who had asked for trouble, half hallucination and not, Remus wasn’t sure and didn’t care, and his gangly height, and down to his rubbish crock shit uniform. He knew. He turned to ask Sirius this, offended, and back to being pissed off and was taken off guard because Remus hadn’t noticed that Sirius was watching him all along with a soft smile on his beautiful face.

“What do you think?” Sirius asked with that soft voice of his. A smile was still playing on his lips.

“Of what?” Remus tossed back tersely.

“Of her,” Sirius’ nodded at the motorcycle. Eyes soft and fond and unaffected.

 _‘Her?!’_ The gendering of a sodding in-animate object had done it for Remus. Remus was now seriously (hah!) considering strangling him. Remus looked at Sirius, taking all of him in. He could have taken on him easily.

Sirius didn’t look particularly muscular and if anything, he was a bit lean, and a bit _too_ _posh_ – now that Remus had properly looked at him. What was with the sodding shite name – the way he spoke and his fancy boots and leather jacket. Who even wears a leather jacket on a sodding afternoon in the summer? A toff, that was who. Remus couldn’t imagine Sirius throwing a punch. Those dainty fingers of his looked like they had spent doing not even an honest day of work. _'He probably grew up with a bleeding nursemaid,'_ Remus thought darkly.

Of _bloody_ course Remus could take on the posh bastard. Remus knew his way around a fight or two. He could scrap it with the best of the lot and stood his ground. He had to learn fast to defend himself, being him - one sandwich short of a picnic and all.

Plus, the village nutter was everyone’s favourite human sandbag.

“You want me to offer you out?” Remus asked challengingly.

“What?”

“Why would you want me to steal this for you? Did daddy stop sending you money or summat?”

Something ugly flitted across Sirius’ feature for a fleeting second. Remus would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been staring at Sirius. To his surprise, Sirius smiled at him. The same soft and warm smile – like he was trying to prove that whatever Remus had said couldn’t get to him. Remus didn’t know how to deal with this – this _kindness_? Would lack of aggressiveness equate to kindness?

Remus didn’t know.

Usually his brash _i-m-p-e-r-t-i-n-e-n-c-e_ would’ve been met with an equally abrasive reaction – usually a punch up, sometimes an insult or two back. Remus racked his brain but to the surprise of no one, there was nothing up there dealing with tactful beautiful boys that were trying to be nice to him.

So, Remus stared at him, quizzically, trying to figure this out, whatever this was.

“It's mine. The motorcycle. What do you think of it, Remus?” Sirius had asked again, kindly. Casually chatting. Almost bordering the tether on being overly polite. Conversationally. Like they’ve been friends for ages. The smile on Sirius’ face hadn’t even faltered.

Remus watched him stand there, one hand in his jacket pocket, and the other fiddling with the hem. Remus was confused. It was as if Remus hadn’t thrown any jab and accusation his way.

When Remus didn’t answer, he continued.

“Come on, let me take you for a bite,” and he mounted the motorcycle and gave it a kick to start.

 _‘Did he say, ride or bite?’_ Remus wondered inwardly. _‘Would it matter? Eating is just a bloody rotten chore, ~~just another something stopping me from being dead,~~ ’_ Remus thought again.

The thought had of course, spiralled, and became sentient, and bred its own sub-questions – and Remus would’ve continued to stand there on the pavement, upholding his reputation as an insane fucker if not for the fact that Sirius had turned to look at him, a big beautiful grin on his face, as he held one of his hand out towards Remus.

“Come on, Remus,” he had said.

With a strange déjà vu familiarity hazing on his mind, Remus’ hand reached out and held onto Sirius’ outstretched hand, and he had graciously helped Remus to get on the bike. If anything, his grin had steadily grown bigger, and in a daze Remus had thought – _‘I would’ve followed him to the end of the world.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote:
> 
> Chapter title is a song by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
> 
> Quote is by Søren Kierkegaard from The Sickness unto Death Is Despair 
> 
> p/s: Yes, they can use magic - artistic liberty and all that.  
> Also, the no-underage-magic-until-seventeen law is revised in this AU, because I believe in any Magical universe, there’d be an old crockpot puppet master blackmailing people into the war effort and there’d be children out there laying their lives and winning the war. Said children would’ve then lobbied the Wizengamot to reform because #youthpower. 
> 
> ***


	3. Star Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lone photograph, mouldy apples, and the shifting orbit of a shooting star.

_\- Qui gît toujours sur la paille des astres,  
Comme le jour dépend de l’innocence  
Le monde entier dépend de tes yeux purs  
Et tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards._

\- That always lies on the straw of the stars,  
As the day depends on innocence  
The whole world depends on your pure eyes  
And all my blood flows in their looks.

☆

He had been an utter and complete idiot. A proper, sodding berk.

Honestly, what had he been thinking?

Of course, he hadn’t been thinking at all. He had gone on to break about a dozen Wizarding Laws and the Statue of Secrecy (and now he had given it some thought – probably some muggle ones as well), all in one swooping pathetic moment, which had spiralled out of his fucking control, and it had all gone tits up – for what? To impress some muggle?

The poor muggle in question that he had _preyed on_ had obviously been (if he hadn’t been too stupid to pay attention) on the verge of a breakdown, and Sirius had pushed him right off the cliff. What the fuck was he trying to accomplish even? For Merlin’s sake, he had acted like a bloody fool, to arse around muggles to tap off. James had gone spare and went absolutely mental on him for hurting a defenceless muggle – which in Sirius’ defence, hadn’t meant for it to go that far.

Not that James wanted to hear another word of it anyway, and he had let Sirius _have it_ , rightly so and told Sirius to fix it. James had gone on a very long, and loud outburst when Sirius had, in panic, called him up through the floo yesterday for help when Remus had fainted on him the first time.

“You’re not at bloody Hogwarts right now, Padfoot! We couldn’t very well send him off to the hospital wing! You can’t use _**more**_ magic to mop this up! This is the real world. There will be _**Real. World. Consequences!**_ Not detention. Not expulsion.

“You’re messing about with things that you can barely understand, Pads! You never think! What’re you trying to achieve anyway? Why can’t you just pull at some bar like everyone else if you’re that desperate for a shag? This isn’t some Marauders prank that went pear shaped! We’re talking about you _**attacking**_ a defenceless muggle –”

“Remus,” Sirius supplied, unhelpfully.

“Yes, this Remus person. You hurt him, with intent and purposes, that could get you convicted right and proper in front of the Wizengamot, which is more than reason enough to throw you into Azkaban – Black surname or not. You’re off age now! Why can’t you think before you run off and do something this stupid?! This Muggle –

“Remus,” Sirius corrected him again, very close to vomiting and passing out himself.

– and James who didn’t give half a rat’s arse about the semantics, had continued on and on for a good while, sparing none of Sirius’ feelings in the process and had mercilessly made to punctuate every word in his arsenal to stab straight into Sirius’ jugular for the kill, like the ruthless beast he was on the quidditch pitch, to drive his point home.

By the end of it, the bulging vein on James’ left temple that had always threatened to make its appearance whenever Sirius had acted particularly difficult, or when Evans was hanging around Snivellus (which was always before their 6th Year), was very close to its bursting point. James had also threatened to tell on Sirius to their mum, Mrs Potter, (which was a very low blow) for good measure if Sirius didn’t fix this whole bleeding mess. It was alright though. Sirius knew that he had more than deserved it. In the end, when James had finally bogged off, Sirius had felt as little as a speck of shite on the bottom of Snivellus’ left shoe.

Who was Sirius kidding anyway, James, as he had always been, had been completely right.

When he had brought the muggle – _Remus_ back to his flat yesterday, he figured that he could’ve pulled off the _that’s-right-I’m-magic-sweetheart_ move (which he thought probably-wouldn't-technically break the Statute of Secrecy if he claimed he was a magician or summat) and maybe the muggle ( _Remus!_ ) would’ve been amazed and swoon at him and acted all excited. This ridiculous notion had begun when he had stumbled upon a new obsession last term; during which he had read copious amounts of muggle epics, starting with him thumbing through a battered copy of _the Iliad_ someone had left in the Gryffindor common room.

He had only meant for it to pass the time, which he had plenty nowadays with his sixth-year free period. James had followed Evans to the library to study – _‘more like to ogle at her,’_ Sirius’ mind countered – like the traitorous lovesick bastard that he was, and had left Sirius alone to his own devices. Sirius hadn’t expected to enjoy the book, much less becoming unable to put it down, much to Evans’ amusement when she and James had returned from the library that evening.

Apparently, Sirius had missed dinner. Evans then had wasted no time in telling him all about the other muggle epics Sirius should read.

Sirius, who was a closet romantic, was immediately enthralled and enamoured by the idea of two people from different worlds falling in love. There was nothing like this in the curricular taught by his old governess or Hogwarts, which had focused typically on oration and perfunctory theories of magic. They had done wonders for his fundamentals in empirical magical law but had performed a severe disservice to his spirituality and emotional state.

Sirius hadn’t known it then, but opening himself up to the possibility of (mythical) fantasy had unearthed something deeply carnal in him. It had evoked desire and want that the wizarding world could not satisfy. From that moment forth, Sirius had dreamt up tales of grandeur and epic proportions – often with him in the role of the celebrated hero who had been wrongfully incarcerated, who had travelled through kingdoms of mythical wonders to the arms of his one true love.

He had, of course, had been hyper focused on the idea of love (thwarted by a malign star) and conveniently glossed over the important bits of disasters and tragedies.

Sirius had thought enviously of how celebrated Odysseus was – on his bravery and wonderful adventure – and naïvely thought that he could very well do the same. He quite liked the idea of being put on a pedestal, returning home, somewhere he could truly belong, and there he would live, with the love of his life by his side, happily ever after forever.

This had spurred his wanting for an adventure in the real world as it were, and where the idea of masquerading as a siren had come forth. He hadn’t known to expect that actual disasters or tragedy would have taken a toll on him. Or that there would be actual pain and suffering on his part; on his conquest to greatness. He had been looking at the idea through a tunnel and he was not aware he had to pay a steep price for it.

This entire experience with Remus had been a right, stinging (deserving) slap to his face.

Fact 1: He had been far too giddy with the prospect of luring a cute boy in him play-acting a siren that he had overlooked all the telltale signs of Remus’ delicate condition. If he had stopped for a second to pull his head out of his arse, he’d notice that Remus was basically wearing a stadium size neon banner for ‘help!’ on the top of his head. Remus had been blatantly disconnected to the real world – him disregarding his injured self, his lack of reaction to all of things unordinary, the out of place laughter and silent tears and empty stares.

Of course, the most telling of all was his dissociative memory. Sirius knew all about it now, but what good would it be when he had piled on to Remus’ mountain high list of severe trauma and pain. He had had swallowed his pride and talked through the fire again to the only other person on the very short list of people he trusted, his favourite cousin, and the only person he considered a family member – Andromeda, who was a Healer at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Like James, Andromeda had wasted no time in biting Sirius’ head off and went on an even more impressively long tirade of outburst, _‘which could’ve easily outshined Mother,’_ Sirius had thought darkly - on how disgusted she was in Sirius’ lack of humanity. How he had acted very much like a _Black_ – she had spat that word out full of venom and malice; and told Sirius she had half a mind to cut him off too, unless, unless, Sirius grew up and took full responsibility of the matter. Sirius had blanched at the threat. He knew enough that the Blacks, _of which Andromeda was very much still one, no matter what,_ did not throw around empty threats.

Thus, he had listened diligently, and had made careful notes on Andromeda’s lecture on ‘Muggles and Mental Illness’. Of course, Andromeda could not professionally diagnose Remus without having met him in a professional setting – but she knew enough to tell Sirius how to help support Remus, in his limited capacity as a stranger who had screwed up royally.

Fact 2: He had, of course, not taken into account the fact that _apparating_ for the first time for anyone – not only muggles, would be an entirely undesirable process. How could he? Not to mention, _why would he?_ He had never spared a moment of his life to think about other people. Not when he had lived the first 16 years of his sheltered, privileged life as the heir to one of the oldest and most powerful wizarding families in all of Britain.

It was an ingrained thought that _the Blacks were **above** everyone_. Britain didn’t have any wizarding royalty, but if there were, there would be no doubt that his family would practically be _**IT**_. Even after he had run off and was disinherited, his name carried over a certain prestige that almost everyone could only dream of having. It didn’t help but to stroke his ego when the Potters had taken him right after. Granted, the Potters were not on the Sacred Twenty-Eight list. Still, they were vastly wealthy and Mrs Potter, being the saint that she was, had doted on him so, and made a fuss about him whenever he came back for the holidays.

So, all in all, a very (not) solid ground on which to build onto all his fantasy of self grandiose.

Instead of the tale of epics he had envisioned, Remus had vomited all over his handmade Persian rug and passed out – twice. Surprisingly, Sirius, who had spent quite pretty pennies on the rug hadn't even thought about _Harrod's_ return policy and what nots considering that his shoddy cleaning charms would definitely not work well on handmade, vintage rugs. 

Sirius had then had no other option but to _apparate_ Remus home. He had, in a right state of panic, he might add, flipped through all of Remus’ book to find out his home address – which luckily was on the very first page of Remus’ logbook, whatever that was. By sheer dumb luck ( _again_ – he must thank the deity that had been looking after him that evening), there was no one at home. Sirius had suffered through copious amount of anxiety as he thought of several thousand-horrible scenarios in which, the least worrisome of all, he had to _confund_ all of Remus’ family members, who had waited up for him in the living room, mad with worry and dreading the worst while Sirius tried and failed to sneak Remus’ lifeless body back into the house.

He had _apparated_ with an unconscious Remus in his arms right onto the Lupins’ doorstep in the cover of the dark night. At that point, his magic had been too wired up and was bubbling under his fingertips from sheer anxiety that he didn’t even have to _alohamora_ the door open.

It was dark in, and no one was home.

His heart had ached terribly when he went on to tuck Remus in his bed. James had been adamant about him not using any more magic on or with or in front of Remus again – the crafty bastard had of course thought of covering all the bases. So, he couldn’t even heal the wounds on Remus’ hand, and Sirius wanted to vomit again, especially remembering that he had caused it. So, he sat there, right on the cold floor next to Remus’ bed, in Remus’ dark bedroom, itching with guilt and remorse and wanting to reach out and hold Remus’ hand and heal the littering of scars across the palms.

He had dearly longed to just climb into the bed, lay next to Remus and wrap Remus in his arms and protect Remus from the world and never let go. But he couldn’t. He mustn’t. He had caused enough damage having given in to his corrupted desire. He had felt so guilty and useless that he vowed he would use everything available in his power to make sure that Remus would be better.

Once his heart had stopped threatening to burst out of his ribcage, Sirius finally stood up from his place on the floor, and decided to poke around a little bit to learn more about Remus. He had to, didn’t he? How else would he learn more about Remus? Remus certainly didn’t trust him enough to share anything and Sirius was running out of time and options. He was expected to go back to Hogwarts in a couple of weeks, and what would become of Remus then?

***

If Sirius had been worried about Remus before, it was nothing compared to the concern he felt after he had snooped around the Lupin household. The house was dingy and cold. It had taken him a little under a few minutes to walk around the house.

There were only two rooms, both of them upstairs. One was Remus’ and another he thought must belong to Remus’ parents. Downstairs was the kitchen and a living room. The tiny living room was sparsely furnished. There was only one threadbare sofa and a crooked tea table, coupled with a clunky ‘tele-visual’ set.

A single framed photograph hung on the wall. It was of a young Remus probably around the age of five, with a woman Sirius assumed to be his mother. They looked nothing alike – not their mannerisms, not their looks. Child Remus looked happy in the picture, with a big wide smile dancing on those red lips Sirius had grown to be too fond of. _‘Lovely,’_ Sirius had thought, and it was quite a fitting conviction. Remus' bright green eyes shone – even in the unmoving muggle picture. Sirius had to stop himself from tearing the picture out of its frame and pocketing it.

Remus’ mum was a stark contrast to her son. She was of medium build, and her body language rigid. In fact, Remus’ mum looked stoic and firm and cold. She didn’t have Remus’ mop of curly light brown hair. Her hair was mousy, and dull, her eyes astonishingly pale blue and unnerving as they stared straight at the camera unsmiling, as she clutched toddler Remus firmly to her side with her bony hands.

The photo was taken right there in the living room. Even then, it had looked equally dingy and unwelcoming. It even had the same ugly curtains.

Sirius stopped staring at the photograph then.

It reminded Sirius too much of his family’s portraits. Which in turn, made Sirius think of the Blacks’ family ancestral home that housed too much pain and agony; and how his blood and pain had been transactional currency for his failing to toe the line drawn – for his inadequacy as the heir right up until he decided that he had suffered enough and left with nothing but the clothes on his back to the Potters’ doorstep.

He went to the kitchen next, not wanting to even step inside Remus’ mum’s room. It was half the size of the already small living room. Sirius could identify a few of the muggle appliances, having also been coerced (read: James not wanting to take a class alone) to join James in taking muggle Studies in James’ undeterring conquest to impress Evans. Granted, he had agreed to it because it displeased his Mother.

Sirius had dropped it by the end of the year, having been thoroughly bored and unimpressed with it – not seeing any practicality in it more like. Also, it had achieved the purpose of pissing off his Mother. He had regretted it now, having stood in the Lupins’ kitchen cluelessly, his limited knowledge failing him, from how anything in the kitchen works, to how muggles feed themselves. He snooped about the kitchen anyway. Sirius wondered about the burner, which looked far too clunky and run down, and the ‘frozen box’, which he remembered was used to store food. Except, there wasn’t any food in it when Sirius had pried it open. Well, what should pass for food anyway, in his opinion. There was only half a loaf of a mouldy bread and a couple of wrinkly apples.

Sirius, who had been spoilt rotten by house-elves cooking all his life was struck with horror. A small gasp escaped his lips. His muscles went rigid, a cold feeling of dread that blanketed him to his core. He felt dizzy with the sudden flood of overwhelming emotion and fell to his knees, shell shocked. It took him a while to regain his bearing and he went mad. With shaky hands, he swung open the few kitchen cabinets and drawers there and ruffled through them to look for – _what exactly?_ he didn’t know.

Validation of sort that Remus wasn’t starved? Contrary evidence that Remus lived with a loving parent that doted on him, and made sure that he was doing well, and healthy, and ate home cooked meals every evening together? Shared laughter over the anecdotes of their day?

 _Of course_ , instead, he had found nothing but dust bunnies and a couple of mangy pots and cutlery.

In a daze, Sirius found himself walking back upstairs to Remus’ room, swaying unsteadily on his feet, clutching at the wall as he went. He fell and crumpled right in front of Remus’ bed and wept – his forehead pressed against the cold cemented floor, his hands clutching at his own shirt and tears, endless tears streamed down his cheek. Sirius’ heaving sobs shook his entire body, and tore through his throat. His legs felt weak and he could barely feel his arms. He felt wrecked with sorrow, and anger, and he could feel his mind retreating inward, trying to numb the pain and shut down.

Sirius couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not when Remus needed him. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to breathe in lungfuls of air. In and out. In and out. Just like Mrs. Potter had taught him how to, last summer, on the doorstep of her house, where Sirius had shown up disentangled, bloody and broken and mangled, having been tortured within an inch of his life by his own Mother.

Sirius used his shaky hand to grip on the bed to help him stand up.

He took one last look around Remus’ room. From the taped up paintings on the wall, double-door cupboard shoved in the corner, one door swung open – revealing a few faded threadbare jumpers hanging from a rail, and a couple of rumpled shirts folded and neatly stacked at the bottom; to the study desk which had a bulky piece of muggle machinery on it – _a counting device? calculating? computing?_ the word for it had escaped his mind.

He had left Remus’ stack of books and papers there, next to some odds and sods. He had seen a purple box of muggle medication on it earlier, and the sight of it now had further strengthened his resolve to help Remus. _Remus._ _His_ Remus – who looked frail and pale and unnervingly still in his crumpled school uniform on the bed, his face finally peaceful in his sleep, void of worry and hurt. Sirius had thought that now, _now_ he almost looked like the smiling boy in the photograph.

Sirius took a couple of tentative steps forward, kneeled by Remus’ bedside, hand reaching out to touch Remus’ hand, before he thought the better of it, and _apparated_ home on the spot, with a heavy weight in his chest. Sirius hadn’t even thought of going to the bar with the map to drown his sorrow. The only thought which had occupied him was only of his Remus, and how he – Sirius could be of any help.

That was how Sirius found himself once again perched outside that brick wall outside Remus’ school, the very next day. He was biding his time for a chance to right the wrong, and perhaps to redeem himself.

He had kept his eyes on the school, not wanting to miss out on anything, and waited for Remus to appear. The few muggles who had passed by had left Sirius well alone, and Sirius didn’t much care. They were not his concern. He was out of his depth and he hadn’t a drop of his foolishly confident swagger he had yesterday. He had caught a glimpse of Remus in the late evening, as Remus ran around and around the field, which was just behind the main building, in his uniform.

Sirius had watched the other muggles, who were playing with a ball of sort yelling and jeering at his Remus. It took every fibre of his willpower not to march over there and _crucio_ the lot of them and personally escort them straight to hell with _fiendfyre_.

But he didn’t. That wouldn’t help his Remus and he had promised James and Andromeda.

Earlier that morning, Sirius had gone to Gringotts to exchange his galleons to muggle pounds. He would need the money to help Remus – to buy food and whatever he needed. Nothing was off the bet. Remus could ask for anything and everything at this point and Sirius would give in. Sirius would buy him everything under the sun if he had asked.

Something as trivial as not being allowed to use magic would not stop him from helping him give Remus the life he deserved – and Remus had deserved much more than this suffering. Basic human decency for one. Food and people who cared maybe. He didn’t know how to help Remus without his magic but he wanted to figure it out.

Sirius wanted to prove to James and Andromeda that he was not a child and he was very capable of being a decent human being and worked this one out on his own. If it would have taken him to deconstructing the way he lived, and shifting the fundamentals of how he looked at life, then so be it. He would rebuild the metaphysical construct brick by brick, and painstakingly rearrange everything he had known, grains by grains if it would have even the slightest chance of being able to help Remus.

After visiting Gringotts, he had wandered about muggle London doing a bit of research on Remus’ illness. He went on with his only lead – the medication on Remus' desk. A bloke behind the counter at a local bookstore chain had been very helpful, and had jumped up to offer his help when Sirius had asked him about it. The bloke had used the ‘feeling-bone’ to put in an enquiry at a local apothecary, gathering information. He then had walked Sirius to a stack of books on bipolar – which apparently was the name of the illness, guiding Sirius there, through the cramped bookshelves aisle with his hand at the small of Sirius’ back.

The bloke had then taken the liberty of explaining the merits of a couple of books about the illness, leaning against the shelves; one hand in his pocket, and another resting against the books. Before he had left Sirius to his reading, the bloke had let slip that his break would be on in ten minutes and Sirius would be more than welcome to join him for a smoke in the break room out back. He even had the audacity to wink at Sirius, after that blatant chat up and walked away with a swaying hip.

Sirius had wanted to hex him.

He had then ridden his bike down South on the long journey from London to Cornwall. Everything about the trip was done in a muggle fashion - refuelling his bike at a petrol station, navigating there by asking people when he got lost and referring to sign boards. He had even bought a copy of an A-Z.

The required physicality of the whole process had helped calm him down considerably, and he was grateful that the drive gave him an opportunity to think and mull things over. The sharp change of scenery and breath of fresh air was also doing wonders to his mental faculty. In fact, it had reminded him wistfully of the acute sensation of freedom he had felt riding his broom. He thought about the things that he had read, and started to map out his plan. Sirius was no stranger to working hard – especially if there was proper incentive for it. For the first time, however, he stood to gain nothing personally gratifying for it – unless you consider the satisfaction of seeing another person happy.

It has been quite strange to him as this was so dissimilar to everything he had done in his long and illustrious career as a Marauder. It felt good regardless. He was starting to feel like himself again, and not as Sirius the Siren, nor Sirius the Tortured Epic Hero. Who knew that his overreliance on magic would be his downfall especially considering The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had stood proud as wizards for more than 500 years. But, that wasn’t him either.

He knew that now.

Who would have thought that in his conquest to find the meaning of life, he would have found himself instead? Why wouldn’t they write epics about this – journey of self-discovery, and self-reclamation which would certainly be more meaningful and instructive to everyone.

 _‘Bleeding romantics,’_ he scoffed, as he leaned forward on his beloved Royal Enfield (Elvendork), heart racing, knuckles nearly white as he gripped the handlebars tightly, and urged the motorcycle to move forward, faster, as he tore down the road, Cornish coastline blurring past. He tried to bite down a smile at the knowledge that he would see Remus again very soon, but he couldn’t help it. He felt relieved that he’d gotten a second chance at something that truly mattered – invaluable in fact. Sure, he hadn’t fully understood it yet, but it was _**visceral**_.

It was truly a monumental moment to him.

All his life had been a series of pantomimes – stages of smoke and mirrors. Now, everything seemed clearer to him. He felt like for the first time in his life, he was seeing the world as it was. Not through a naïve rebellion lens, and certainly not through the supremacy rhetoric shoved down his throat. His inner compass had realigned and he was no longer lost.

But, he knew that his presence – what it meant – was very different from the first time he and Remus met. Sirius had been mistaken to think that his tale was akin to Odysseus. No, he was Calypso.

He knew, and he understood now that what he felt for Remus was secondary to giving Remus what he deserved – and Remus deserved the _world_.

Overcame with the intense and fierce desire to just be glad and grateful for the sheer ability to just – just be around Remus again, to see him again, he barked out a loud mad laughter. Sirius would take this, whatever this was – and be grateful for every second of having the privilege.

His Remus. Anything for him. Anything for his Remus.

Oh, and Sirius also vowed to never touch another copy of muggle fiction ever again. In fact, anytime he set sight on one, that would be entirely _too bloody soon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by The Rolling Stones.
> 
> Poem is “La Courbe de tes yeux” by Éluard
> 
> _Harrods_ is a department store in London that sells mostly designer items ~~and where posho snobs like Sirius shop~~
> 
> ***


	4. La Vie En Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sky rats to the rescue, St. Senara, and Cornish Coastline.

Saint Senara’s Prayer  
May your soul always recognise the divinity in another;  
May your heart embrace the gifts of grace each has to offer,  
And hear the song within even the humblest sea shell.  
May you find joy in each other's laughter,  
And peace in each other's eyes.  
May the tide carry you to the shores of imagination,  
In a boat made of your most precious dreams.  
May all your prayers be answered,  
As you write them in the sand.

☆

As he waited for Remus outside the school, Sirius ran through the mental notes he’d made in supporting people with bipolar.

> 1\. Show patience  
> 2\. Be understanding  
> 3\. Listen without judgement  
> 4\. Ask what they need  
> 5\. Offer them company and support.

It was a polar opposite of how he used to act – brash, inconsiderate and tactless. But, people changed, didn’t they? Or, at least that was what he’d heard. He’d figured that the first obvious step was to get Remus to eat something somehow. Get some food in him. Make him feel better. Food would always help with healing, the books had said. He agreed – remembering the comforting effect Mrs Potter's home-cooked dishes and the Hogwarts food had on him.

He mused at the dining options he’d had here; would fish and chips be too – _corny? for a Cornish bloke?_ he snickered at his own lousy pun. James would have smacked him upside the head for that one.

Sirius paused for a bit at the thought of James, and pushed it to the far, far cobwebbed corner of his mind where things he didn’t want to deal with right now resided. The likes of _unrealistic-and-truly-dark-parental-expectations and inane-and-bigoted-classist-social-disparity_ sat there, glowing in acrid neon green and tar black, the colours of Sirius’ nightmare. Things between him and James would sort itself out sooner or later he reckoned, why bother wasting his time worrying about it – and that was the Sirius Black's gold standard; the polestar to all his actions and reasons.

Anyway, onto the important bits. Now, now that he had figured out all that he could do for Remus, he just had to not fuck it up.

Right. _Piss easy_ , that.

In the end, they did go for fish and chips. There was a lovely shop right in front of the harbour there that Sirius had gone countless times before in the previous summers he was there.

Sirius had bought a large amount of takeaway; knowing that Remus wouldn’t have appreciated being closed indoors, _‘not when he's already the prisoner and keeper of keys of his own soul and mind’_ – he thought, quoting one of the books. He had splurged on a large order of battered fish – lemon sole for him, and sea bass for Remus, loads of chips, scampi, and battered scallops. He had also caved and charmed the lovely old lady behind the counter to bag them a couple slices of chocolate brownies for them, despite not being on the take away menu when he saw Remus was eyeing them.

Sirius was a bit hesitant to leave his motorcycle parked there, by the shop, but he figured the _muggle repelling charm_ that he had casted on every inch of his bike when he was rebuilding it would be good enough. For good measure, he casted _salvio hexia_ and an _imperturbable charm_ on it, while he was crouching down next to his bike pretending to tie the laces of his boots. He figured that would be good enough to stop any muggles with ill intentions.

If he were ever unlucky enough to get mugged by wizards instead, well, come off it, the muggers would be the unlucky ones for crossing him.

He stood up quickly before he could change his mind and brushed off the dust on his jeans. Remus remained nonplussed through all the commotions in Sirius’ head. In fact, he was already digging into the chips, eyes busy watching the holiday makers around them while he waited for Sirius by the sidewalk. Sirius smiled at him and nudged Remus gently with his shoulder. Remus turned to look at him.

“Come on then,” Remus had said, his lips quirking slightly at the end, one eyebrow slightly cocked – a familiar look by now, and nodded his head towards the coastal path.

Sirius’ heart soared.

***

“Penny for your thought?” Sirius asked, breaking the silence between them, choosing his words carefully. That was one of the very few muggle turns of phrase he was sure of. He felt rather proud of himself at that show of muggle-ness. That was a thing that he had picked up from Mary, one of Evans’ best friends slash one of the many girls he had shagged and unceremoniously forgotten about before he moved on to another. In his defense, there was just too many more interesting things to occupy his mind with! Of course, this made it to the list of the many reasons Evans was short on him.

Mary hadn’t cared of course. She simply moved on to the next bloke and called no hard feelings and all after James (Evans obviously) had made Sirius talk it out.

 _‘Body count is obviously a social construct,’_ Mary had said. _‘Girls have as much right to sleep around as boys do. Sex is healthy when done safely with consenting partners. There is nothing wrong with it.’_ They shared a spliff and a snog and that was that.

She was brilliant, that Mary. She was right of course. It was not like he was being purposely misleading or he led everyone on. It was the one thing he had been very clear about, every time. That it was all casual and a bit of fun, with no strings attached. Sirius had thought for a bit then that maybe Mary could be the sort of person he’d settle down with one day. Plus, imagine the sort of hell he could raise by marrying a muggleborn.

Sirius shook his head free of the thoughts and Mary.

Here, in the real world, Remus looked pensive, staring ahead at the sea. He was now sitting cross legged on the grass, shoulders slouching, and Sirius had joined him. They’d walked a fair bit – along the granite coastline and the rugged coast path; eating the fish and chips in silence, barring the waves crashing, sunlight dazzling at the whites of sea foams, always just a couple of steps away from their feet. It was serene and a far cry from the chaos that was London in the summer, what Sirius grew up with.

Instead of the garish sound of bustling traffic and people, there were just the screeching seagulls above them. Funnily enough, Sirius didn't mind it much this time. The sun was out, the wind blowing playfully. Right in front of them, the Atlantic spanned endlessly, impressively, and most importantly, Sirius had thought – _freely_.

To his left, lost in the rolling hills and greens surrounding them, Sirius saw clusters of old houses, ruins of arches, of an ancient church way that led up to an ancient muggle house of worship which had weathered in time. It was a bit all right. Sirius had wondered then, what it would’ve felt like, what it would be like if he could stay there instead, forgoing all his worries, forgetting who he was, or who he should be; and to live here – _in a slice of paradise, forever_.

After what had seemed like an eternity and a half, Remus let out a deep sigh and gave half a glance at Sirius. He had smiled, albeit a little sadly at Sirius. His eyes lacklustre, and he started to trace shapes on the ground before him with his finger as he began to speak, voice slightly trembling.

“We moved down here when I was about five from Wales. That’s where my da met my mum. Funny. I don’t remember anything about him – or the place we used to live, or her family, or anyone from there. Mum never talked about them even.

“I remember we had to draw a family tree back when I was a _bach_. Back in preschool. His name was all I got out of her – Lyall. Irish name, so he must’ve been one. I don’t much mind the rag I’ve gotten. These kids, all they could gob off. Heard it all. The pity I’d gotten, having a stump for a family tree from the Miss – that was the worst bit.”

Sirius, who had always been the resident expert in the torment of having a shite family, was fighting the urge to hold Remus’ hands. They were trembling as Remus went on to tear off tufts of grass at his feet nervously. Sirius pushed down the sensation of his own phantom pain, or to give in to the thrilling, and frankly satisfying fantasy of finding each one of Remus’ tormentors and _crucio_ the lot of them. Instead, he listened. He dug his heels in and focused on being present, willing himself to breathe properly and calm his pounding heartbeat. He could _reducto_ a wall or two later, he thought decidedly.

Remus threw him a furtive glance, and Sirius tried to muster a look that he hoped came across as empathetic and understanding. Not trusting himself, Sirius gave Remus an encouraging nod and smiled for good measure. Remus smiled miserably back at him, as though it pained him a lot to do so, and continued to stare forward. His hands had progressed to busying themselves with uprooting large clumps of grass, sizable roots and all and throwing them at the direction of the sea. His jeans and shoes were soiled with patches of black earth and grass stain. Remus let out a hard sigh and closed his eyes. His eyebrows were pinched together, and his mouth opened, and closed a couple of times but there were no words coming forth.

Sirius waited. Bided his time. An eternity must’ve passed between them. But he didn’t mind. He won’t push Remus, over the edge or not. Not again. He was not about to _welsh_ – this time, _he_ groaned inwardly at his untimely pun.

Sirius must’ve missed whatever it was that made Remus stop tattering over the edge of undecidedness. Abruptly, and all at once, all the words that Remus had meant to say stumbled out of his mouth, tripping over one another, harshly. His voice was now flat out shaky, and hoarse. It was just a touch away from strained whispers. Sirius had to lean in closer to listen.

“All I can remember is here. All the memories I have, they started here.

“This bloody beach. This _place_. We used to come down here, you know. Me and mum. That’s one of the _very few_ things I can remember from when I was young. We’d just sit here for hours. We’d eat soggy chips and drink stale tea – she’s a rotten cook, see? Can’t make a toast to save her life.

“Sometimes we’d walk. We’d walk all the way from here to Carn Naun. Sometimes to Gurnard’s Head. Sometimes to the Carracks. She loved Zennor, a church down there. She’d pray to St Senara, like she owed her her life or summat. She used to say that St Senara bought us here, and she’ll protect us, because we’re just like her – orphaned son, and a lost mum.

“Then, one day she just stopped. We stopped coming here. She stopped being her. Stopped being mum. She’s always out then – work or something. Reckon I’ve managed ten words out of her since. I don’t remember the why or the what. I didn’t ask. I don’t even want to know. Truths, they don’t erase pain.

“Everything here is too – hollow. Like her. She’s meant to be my mum but she acted like I’m Pete bloody nothing. It doesn’t matter what I do or say. She’d left. What’s here was not her anymore.

“There’s no meaning to this life – whatever that is supposed to mean. No bloody point. Doesn’t matter if you live or die here. There’s just nothing.

“If I have good days. I’d walk down here by myself, think about the ‘what ifs’. I’d wonder what it would be like if things were different. If I have a proper family. Mum and dad. People, who give a fuck if I live or die. Or, if it would be the same because it’s _**me**_ who’s rotten on the inside.

“I’d wonder if I’d ever get out here. A lot of people didn’t. Some people – they live their whole lives here. Their entire bloody lives. Yonks. Had never even been five miles away from this blummin place. I’d think about the few who did – like Fleetwood or that bloke from Queen. I’d wonder if I’d ever be lucky enough.”

Just like it had begun, it ended abruptly. Remus let out a long low sigh. He rubbed his face with his hands and slumped backward to lie down on the grass. His eyes were closed shut now, but he didn’t look as peaceful as he was when he was sleeping. Instead, his lips were pinched together, and features of his face were drawn with harsh hard lines.

Sirius was freaking out. He didn’t know what to say after all that. So, his mouth had run ahead and did the talking for him. As it had always been, when he had spoken without thinking, it was sodding stupid and blooming useless. Maybe everyone was right – his family, and James and Meda, and Evans, he must’ve been dead from the neck up. That would be the only plausible explanation for his inherent shit for brain response after Remus had spilled his heart out.

“Are they your friends?” he had blurted.

“Who?” Remus asked, from the grass; opening his eyes slowly to squint, and turning his head to look at Sirius strangely, like Sirius had accidentally grown an extra arm on his back somehow. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply.

Sirius fought the urge to pat his back to check for the extra arm.

“Er, the Fleet person and the Queen bloke?” Sirius answered hurriedly, wishing that he had a time turner right about now so he could go back in time, and give himself a thorough bashing for being a sodding idiot.

“You’re having me on. You’ve never heard of Fleetwood bloody Mac? Queen?” Remus asked, halfway between a snort and a laugh.

Sirius mumbled something about boarding school and French governess.

Remus barked out loud laughter. It was the most beautiful sound Sirius had ever heard. Suddenly, Sirius, who had prided himself on being a brilliant bastard, found himself not minding very much being painted a fool.

“Hopeless toff,” Remus said to him, but without a bite, and a playful smile on his lips.

Sirius had desperately wanted to kiss the crinkle that had blossomed at the corner of Remus’ eyes. Instead, he clenched his hands briefly and tried to suppress the shivers on his fingertips. He schooled his expression to smooth out his hopelessly loved up face and smiled back at Remus.

“I know,” he said, the fondness in his voice betraying him just a little.

Remus shook his head and looked away. Fiddling instead to retrieve something out of his pocket.

“You’re missing out. You need to give them a proper listen. Hold on. I think I’ve got something of them on my mobile. Mind, it’s a bit shite – the audio,” Remus babbled about, excitedly as he took out a black square thing – a mobile apparently, whatever that was and Sirius watched him mess about with it.

Whatever the spewing mess their lives were – they were temporarily forgotten.

He’d turned into a half sitting up position, leaning on his elbows, facing Sirius. Sirius couldn’t help thinking about how intimate this was. Remus had put the mobile between them, and his face lit up brilliantly when _music_ spilled out of the mobile.

The music was enthralling, preamble of heavy bass, and catchy beats, juxtaposed with twangs of guitar strings. The lyrics crooned was of inner turmoil blaring out in gleaming, melodic art – it was nothing like the scores of Bach or Chopin that Sirius had grown up playing on the piano. Sirius found himself leaning forward eagerly, torn between listening to the music and watching Remus’ face glow – a sight of radiant visage.

Sirius’ heart grew about three times its size, and he was breathless. His mouth felt dry, and his heart was thundering loudly against his chest. His insides, viscera and all were vibrating, adrenaline pumping wildly. He felt like he could go toe to toe with the biggest and maddest daemon his fevering nightmare could throw at him and win. He felt like there was something that had lightened up within him, for the first time in his life – he felt awake, and _alive_.

Sirius gave in to his yearning predispositions and lay down next to Remus, closing his eyes, their hands so close they were almost brushing. They lay there, lost in paradise, for hours, days, and eternity, listening to the saviour of the stray singing her heart out. It cut deep. But it was alright. She was not here to hurt them. She was here to spindle their pain into words. They knew that she had lived their misery, and she understood. She was one of them.

> _“– But listen carefully to the sound  
>  of your loneliness,  
> like a heartbeat drives you mad  
> in the stillness of remembering  
> what you had  
> and what you lost –”_

Stevie was in the middle of singing the line – _Rulers make bad lovers. You better put your kingdom up for sale_ – when the music stopped abruptly with a loud crunching sound. Sirius frowned, and he could hear Remus shuffling about to stand up next to him. He opened his eyes to see a looming heavyset boy grinning menacingly at them, towering above him. There were two more, hanging about behind his back, looking so similarly to one another, like a pair of hulking demonic twins.

The biggest of the lot had gotten what was left of Remus’ mobile crunched under one of his trainers, the bleeding clodhopper. Sirius felt his blood boiling in his ears and in a flash, he was up too. He took up a duelling stance that by Merlin, he was so fucking used to and glared at them.

“Didn’t know you can afford a rent boy, Loony. Shouldn’t you be saving up to ship yourself to the loony bin?” the biggest of the lot said and sneered. He was wearing a rugby jersey with Remus’ school emblem embroidered on his chest.

Behind him, Tweedledum and Tweedledee – who were wearing matching rugby outfits chuckled unpleasantly like the schadenfreude sadists they were. They were sucking on lollies as if they were lounging about at the beach instead of enjoying a malicious display of suffering and unhappiness.

Sirius shot a glance at Remus, trying to measure up his response, but he was just standing there – his eyes glassy and his body tensed all over. His fists were clenched tightly and Sirius knew that the nails were steadily biting through his palm. Soon, they would draw blood again. Sirius cursed inwardly at James Fleamont Potter for making him promise that he wouldn’t cause another muggle any bodily harm. What was the fucking use of being a bloody wizard honestly if you couldn’t do shite in situation like this! He hated being useless, and pathetic and he felt like the scene playing out before him was a bastardisation of the night before. Well, if he couldn’t use his fists or wand –

“Fuck off,” Sirius spat at them.

“Oh, a loyal bitch you’ve gotten here, Loony,” the boy said mockingly as an unkind smile slowly spread on his face. He looked like a demented ghoul, standing there with his big bulging eyes watching them sinisterly – grinning madly, rubbing his hands together and nearly bouncing about the place.

Sirius was about to go spare – let his fists do the talking, promises be damned when Remus gripped his arm, took a step to stand closer to him.

“Why would I ship myself to your house, Greyback Jr.?” Remus said coolly to the git.

Sirius choked, and he watched as Greyback Jr.’s face darkened.

“Think you’re pretty smart eh, Loony. Well, see if he’d still fuck you if he finds out –”

Sirius had never found out what, because Greyback Jr.’s voice was drowned out by a shriek. He spun around to look at the source of the commotion to see that Tweedledum and Tweedledee were swatting their hands about hopelessly, screaming profanities at some ruddy sea gulls, who were hell bent on pilfering the lollies in their hands.

“Bleeding sky rats! Geroff you fuckers! Buggering hell! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUCK!”

The gulls were flying about their heads, diving and pecking at every bit of skin it could reach because stupidly, the blubbering idiots, had refused to let go of their lollies. It was a maddening sight to behold.

Remus and Sirius dissolved into hysterical laughter, almost bending double, clutching at each other for support at the comically hilarious sight, as Greyback Jr. darted away, screaming obscenities at his friends, or the sky rats, they didn’t care – “Geroff! Geroff! AAAAAAAAAA Just let go of the fucking lollies you wankers FUCK! FUCK! NO! NO!”

Still chortling, Remus reached out to hold Sirius’ hand, intertwining their fingers together and gave Sirius a playful nudge with his elbow, as he said, “Come on then,” pulling him away from the Shakespearean comedy behind them.

In that moment, Sirius knew something had shifted between them.

Sirius looked at him, eyes twinkling, his face rosy and soft, a wide grin stretched across his feature, and beamed back at Remus, deciding that he didn’t need to drink seventeen shots of alcohol and throw darts at some dodgy map at some mangy muggle pub because he had found the purpose of his life, right here.

Together, they walked back along the coastal path, hand in hand, the sunset almost setting in the horizon, lending a tinge of brilliant red, orange, and blue across the coast, lavish and extensive. All around them, everything had exploded in a plethora of colour, under the glorious and brass sun. Sirius’ eyes caught St. Senara church tower, stained glass window winking at him, looking mystifying and heavenly, even from far in the distance. He then vowed that he would come back to give her proper offering, or prayers, or whatever it was that the muggles did for St Senara, patron saint of orphaned boys, lost mums, and lovers apparently, for her divine intervention.

***

When they arrived at Remus’ house, it was still dark and Sirius’ heart grew heavy at the sight. Remus’ mum wasn’t home. Again. He didn’t want the day to end. He didn’t want to leave Remus by himself. He had made the executive decision that he didn’t want to be apart from Remus. Ever.

Remus had unwrapped himself from Sirius’ waist – for he had his arms around Sirius the whole ride home, clutching tightly with his head resting on Sirius' back. Sirius had to chastise himself to not grow overly fond of the closeness. It was out of practicality of course. Self-protection. He had had to hold on to Sirius. Surely Remus didn’t want to fly off backwards as Sirius sped down the winding country road.

Slowly, he climbed off the bike, steadying himself by grabbing onto Sirius’ shoulder and Sirius' breath slowed and deepened, wishing for prolonged contact. He smiled a weak, pensive smile, swallowed visibly, and dipped his chin slightly– not wanting Remus to read into his expression. _‘If only things could be different, I wish we can – If only –’_

He was broken out of his lovesick reverie when Remus cleared his throat next to him. He hadn’t realised that Remus was standing very close. Remus had taken off the helmet and he was handing it back to Sirius. Remus was looking at him with an odd expression on his face, like he was mulling something over.

Sirius cursed inwardly, _'W_ _as the lovesick face too obvious? have I been found out? shit._ _'_ He needed to get on top of this situation, quickly. Sirius reached out to grab the helmet out of Remus’ hand and blurted out, “Sorry about your mobile,” and winced inwardly. Of all the things to say to ruin a moment before it began. He thought darkly to himself – _'Well done, dickhead. Might as well tell him you’re a sodding berk and get it over with.’_

“S’fine. It was shite. Bout time anyway,” Remus replied nonchalantly with a shrug.

“But, you can’t listen to music anymore,” Sirius pressed on, like the certified naff he was. Inside, he was screaming his lungs out at his lack of tact and inability to converse like a proper human being whenever he was around Remus.

Remus looked at him amusedly. Eyebrow raised and lips pursued, like he was trying to figure something out. He smiled and shook his head slightly.

“Really. It’s fine. I’ve got a desktop computer upstairs. For listening to music – that is. Also, there’s nobody who called me on my phone anyway.”

Sirius' head was scrambling to find something to say that wouldn’t make him look more – odd, for a lack of better word. He didn’t know what half of Remus said had meant. He was right up Queer Street and he was stuck there.

He rubbed the back of his neck absently, and started to shift uncomfortably against his motorcycle’s pillion, and cleared his throat for the lack of something to do. He snuck a darting gaze at Remus who was still watching him openly, waiting for him to say something in reply and he started to chew on his lips.

Thankfully, after a beat, Remus graciously saved him from further making a prat out of himself by reaching out to touch his hand slightly, and kept his hand there. His long, slender fingers brushed against Sirius’. Sirius basked against the cool skin of Remus’ fingertips and he could feel his nerves calming for a tic before spiking erratically – worse than before. Oh. _Oh._

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for today. It was nice.”

It felt like someone had thrown him a lifeline. His chest was blooming with fireworks and roses and all the flowers of summer and he could feel warmth radiating throughout his body. He was high on pure adrenaline – he felt awake and alive. Sirius beamed and smiled widely at Remus. He didn’t care how foolishly smitten he looked now. Carefully and gently, he moved to intertwine their fingers together. His thumb stroked against the pale cool skin of Remus’ hand, tracing along his veins and scars, dipping across Remus’ delicate wrist.

If Sirius had his way, he thought, he would never let go of Remus’ hand. Nothing in this world compares to this, nothing heaven could offer could rival this – _this_ right here, the feel of Remus against his skin. Sirius looked straight into Remus’ eyes, which looked wild and bright even in the dusk, and he brought Remus’ hand to his mouth and brushed it softly against his lips, and trailing deeper kisses across the back of his hand, on his palm, and finally – _finally_ his delicate, slender wrist, letting his lips linger longer there before letting go.

Sirius could feel Remus’ pulse beat on his lips, and he could smell him, Remus – the intoxicating smell of him – he smelled a bit like the ocean, musky, with a trace of sweet-smelling undertone. He could taste his salty skin, and the rush of life underneath it.

Remus’ cheek tinged bright crimson. Sirius relished at the thought that he had never seen anyone look more beautiful.

“Remus?”

“Yeah?”

“All right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a date then.”

Remus blushed even harder, as beautiful as ever. He nodded quickly and spun on his heel determinedly and marched towards his front door. Sirius chuckled lightly and he wondered if this would be considered using his power for evil. It was probably fine.

Sirius rode his motorcycle around the street corner, fast and sharp, and as soon as he was blanketed by the dark of the night, he flicked a hidden switch on the motorcycle handle, and the motorcycle flew right up into the air, and he raced against the cool summer breeze all the way home, to his flat in London. That was more than everything he could have hoped for.

Even if Remus had pretended to not know him tomorrow, or really had forgotten him again, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d do this all over again, a thousand times over if it needed be. All was well.

Or so he thought, until he found one James Fleamont Potter sitting outside of his flat, nodding off against his front door. _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by Édith Piaf
> 
> St Senara’s legend origin shared a similarity with Danaë, of the Greek mythology. They were both casted to the sea with their son. Danaë was pregnant with hers and Senara gave birth in the waves. Both were casted away by unjust rulers and tragic fate. They found solace at a new land where they rebuilt their lives, and their son grew up to fulfil their destiny of greatness. 
> 
> ***


	5. One For The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curses, cuddles, and a hot pink polka dot hairdo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Bits of a mature scene. 
> 
> If you wish to skip it it starts at _**"Remus was still grinning when he stopped by Sirius’ side ..."**_ and it went on for that whole paragraph.
> 
> A couple of paragraphs after, skip _**"Now that Remus was right in front of him ..."**_
> 
> You can pick it back up at the last paragraph.

What would you like?  
I’d like my money’s worth.  
Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this—  
swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood  
on the first four knuckles.  
We pull our boots on with both hands  
but we can’t punch ourselves awake and all I can do  
is stand on the curb and say  
‘Sorry about the blood in your mouth.  
I wish it was mine.’

☆

They were sitting on the couch, stuffing themselves with takeout curry from a shop they love round the corner when the inevitable happened – the real reason why James had unceremoniously invited himself to stay the night at Sirius’ flat.

“What did you get up to?” James started.

“Went out for a ride.”

“Where?”

“Down south, near the coast.”

_“What did you get up to, Pads?”_

“Just a walk.”

James sighed loudly, looking entirely unimpressed, and employed a look that he used when he decided that Sirius was being particularly difficult on purpose. He put his curry down on the coffee table in front of them and looked squarely at Sirius. He carded his hands through his messy hair and it gave him that _just-got-off-the-broom_ or _sex-bed-hair_ , depending on who you were asking. The artfully tousled look, and the gesture that had earned him a Quidditch god slash cult leader-like status amongst girls and a couple of guys at Hogwarts. It was a poor habit that had gotten stuck even though James had somehow managed to snag Evans, cult following notwithstanding. His feet tapped impatiently, noisily. Sirius had wanted to use the permanent sticky charm to stick them to the floor.

 _Sodding pureblood heir with no manners_ – who had ever even heard of such a thing? Not Sirius, up until he was eleven.

Sirius had been under the bloody impression that the likes of him – purebloods – good breeding and all – were to conduct themselves properly and primly all the bloody time. The pureblood indoctrination had taught him to do well to forgo that nonsense – of showing weakness with emotions and feelings. He had thanked Merlin and Morgana countless times for James, and for the destruction of all the pureblood mania and blood purity shite that his family had drilled into his skull; with James’ existence in Sirius’ life.

James, who loved him more than his own blood. James who had sworn on even the slightest inconvenience that _he’d die for him, and avenge Sirius’ untimely death – in that order._ Much to the amusement of McGonagall the first time she heard it and exasperation for the countless times after. But that didn’t mean that James would let him get away with his shite though. Being his brother after all, and taking no bullshit was indeed in his job description. James loved taking things very siriusly and all. He was not an enabler, that James Potter, and Sirius admired him deerly for that. 

“Pads, we can do this your way or the easy way. Out with it,” James said, looking insistently at Sirius, jaw squared and sitting with his back straight.

Sirius had been hoping James wouldn’t say that. He’d rather not be on the receiving end of a roughhousing tactic – James had grown at least five inches since last summer. He had been taller than Sirius before. But now, James towered above him, _the inconsiderate beanstalk fucker._ James also had been relentless on keeping up with his Quidditch training regime, despite it being a bloody summer and him too busy snogging Evans to give Sirius any time of the day. Upper body strength had come with the territory.

“I went to see Remus,” Sirius said forlornly, bracing himself against James’ outburst. Sirius had stopped eating, appetite vanishing with the way the conversation was going. Couldn’t James wait until he’d at least finished eating? Inconsiderate berk.

“Padfoot. I swear to Merlin. No. I swear on _mum_ –” James started.

“It wasn’t like that. We only went out to eat, and then we walked down the coast. That’s it,” Sirius said hurriedly, before James bit his head off.

“No magic?” James asked, his tone distrustful.

“None. Honestly, knock it off, will you? I’m not a bleeding child,” Sirius said, frowning at James, wishing he’d back off.

“No, but you acted like one often enough. So, what’re you up to tomorrow?” James prodded on, undeterred.

“I’ve got a date.”

“With Remus?”

“Well, _yes._ ”

“Great. Lily and I will join you. We’ll double.”

For Godric’s sake. Sirius wanted to throttle James. Just top him off and bury him in the woods. The sodding inconsiderate berk along with his mucking arse.

“Don’t think Remus would appreciate that Jamie. He’s not very comfortable around people.”

James narrowed his eyes and squinted at Sirius.

“Who the fuck are you and what have you done to Sirius?”

See, this was exactly his problem with James – he was such a mother hen.

Maybe Sirius had grown up since the last time James had seen him. James couldn’t accept it because he was being a prat and was taking the big brother role far too seriously to see that he – Sirius – was capable of personal growth and all the adult-ing if he wished so. He just hadn’t had a good enough reason to do so before.

Sirius wanted to throttle James, bury him in the woods, _and_ set the whole bloody forest on fire. He rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sirius then shut his eyes and tried to think about how inconsolable Mrs. Potter would be if one of her sons dropped off the face of the earth.

He gritted his teeth and glared at James.

“He’s unwell, James. He’s not – _look_ , I’ve talked to Meda. I’ve done proper research. He needs help. We can’t just trot him off the edge of the water and see if he sinks or floats,” he spat out.

James looked unimpressed.

“What was the first thing you said to me?”

“What?”

“You heard me. When we first met, what was the first thing you said to me?”

Sirius sighed again. Honestly, the audacity of this sodding bastard.

“You saw me hexing my dear cousin Bella on the train corridor when she was throwing curses at me. Then, I fell arse over tit trying to dodge them. She laughed. Everyone laughed. You helped me up, dragged me into your compartment and said – _‘fuck, can you teach me how to do that?’_ ” Sirius had recounted in a monotone, except for the bit in the end where he said in a terrible imitation of eleven-year-old James’ squeaky voice. “And then I said, _‘do what? Fall flat on my arse?’_ and then you said – ”

“Well, all right. That's enough,” James said, cutting him off.

“You asked.”

“Tosser.”

“Wanker.”

“Arsehole.”

“Git.”

That went on a bit until James had run out of expletives, and lost and had gone to the kitchen to help himself to Sirius’ beers. This was never serious or malicious, this ongoing banter of insults between them, despite what it might have looked like to outsiders and their parents. In fact, it was one of Sirius’ favourite things about their brotherhood, that he could say anything to James and they would still love each other. Within reasons of course.

Afterwards, Sirius recounted everything that had happened that day. Mainly to get James off his back and for him to understand that Sirius didn’t want to just cock shit up this time. He genuinely cared about Remus and he wanted to take care of him. Sirius couldn’t just leave things to chance. Not now. He couldn’t explain it, but he just knew he couldn't.

Like the good friend and brother, he was, James had listened properly, not even interrupting once.

James did roll off the couch at one point though, laughing his head off at the bit about the gull. Sirius joined him on the rug. Sirius lay there with his head resting on James’ stomach, something that they have done so many times before – and James put an arm around him and ran his fingers through Sirius’ hair – a gesture so familiar and so comforting that Sirius teared up.

It reminded him so much of the first time James had hugged him – it was a couple of days after the sorting and the first letters from home had flooded the students at breakfast.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter had owled a huge box of sweets from Sugarplum's Sweet Shop in Diagon Alley and James had immediately torn it open and tossed around Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes and Sugar Quills at the other Gryffindors who sat nearby. Pettigrew’s mother had sent him something more sensible, but still extravagant – a set of fancy quills – _‘Honestly, we had just started school. How can anyone be needing new school things already?’_ On his left, Longbottom was reading a long congratulatory letter his parents had penned to congratulate him on getting into Gryffindor.

It was a similar sight everywhere, as Sirius looked around.

In fact, every single first year had been looking forward to receiving their first owl post from home – everyone, except him.

All over the house tables students beamed and smiled like anything as they read loving letters from their family, or being spoiled with sweets and stationaries. He stared at his own letter – which was paper thin. There was no illusion as to what it contained. His Mother’s cursive in silver ink dented the black ecru envelope. He hadn’t dared to open it. But he knew that he must. There would be worse fate awaiting if he didn’t.

Later that night when he had tried and failed to spell his curtain shut to hide from his dorm mates – his magic was often wonky when he was upset – James had climbed into his bed silently. Sirius had been careful to skip dinner to read the accursed letter in his dorm when no one was around. Apparently, James knew better than he let on and had returned to their dormitory to look for Sirius.

His Mother had managed to lace the letter to curse Sirius with lashes of _diffindo_ – that was one of her old favourites for him. The _diffindo_ curse had hit him right after he had finished reading the last written word on the letter – 'disappointment'. That was just the way his _darling_ Mother acted. That was Mother’s _modus operandi_. Letting him lower his guard, and then striking poisonously and effectively when he was taken unaware.

As it were, the few short days at Hogwarts had lulled him into a delusion of safety and being out of reach of his parents. He was wrong. Of course.

He had to admit that after a couple days of peace following the sorting, he had foolishly hoped that he was safe from his Mother’s wrath. That even though his cousins had reported the scandalous event of his sorting back to the family, maybe he wouldn’t be punished for it – what was with it out of his control anyway. How was he to know a sodding hat would consider him courageous and chivalry and all that? – he surely hadn’t done anything worthy of those qualities.

Now he thought, maybe deep down, way back in the backburner of his mind, he knew. Maybe he had always known that he was different from the rest of the pureblood-manic family members. Maybe it became true every time he stepped in front of his Mother to protect his little brother when she was out for blood. Maybe.

But back then, Sirius figured that all of it had been out of purely selfish reasons. If his little brother had died, or ran away, or turned his back on his family like he did, – then it would be up to him to be the only heir. There’d be no way out. Surely that was not being courageous. That was just him sorting out means to an end.

That night, James had found him hopelessly trying to bandage his wounds with torn up strips of his school shirt. Sirius didn’t have anything else to work with. His trunks were full of robes and uniforms and books and not much else. Sirius' hands had gotten the worst of it. He had tried using them to shield his face. Still, there were a few deep cuts on his left cheek. He didn’t know any healing spells, and hadn’t gotten the chance to look them up at the library because he had foolishly spent his time enjoying himself running around Hogwarts with James; relishing in his first moment of freedom.

Sirius couldn’t help himself. There were corridors and rooms and grounds to explore, there was excellent food to devour at meals, and there was the Quidditch pitch to watch his house team train at and he had stupidly forgotten himself. Merlin knows he couldn’t go to the hospital wing. Inviting difficult questions towards the family could bring about a much worse fate than a couple of cuts for him.

James didn’t even say a word as he went to fetch a box filled with vials of healing potions from his trunk.

Of _fucking_ course James’ mum would love her son enough to sort out this contingency plan. James had seemed to have those kinds of parents. The normal kind of mum who would care if their son was hurt and would buy the whole world to make sure that they were okay. The normal kind of dad that would’ve stepped in if their son was being tortured or something. Sirius didn't know much about nice, normal parents.

James then had tipped some small droplets of _essence of dittany_ on the still bleeding wounds on Sirius’ hands first, working silently and carefully avoiding Sirius’ eyes.

Sirius sat there, his mind an empty void. He watched the scene in front of him quietly, uncertain of this new territory, and what sort of response would be appropriate when someone had cared for him. He watched as the greenish smoke the essence made as it stung painfully, before it healed the deep cuts and stopped the bleeding.

When James was done healing Sirius’ hand, he finally looked up to study Sirius closely. Sirius’ eyes were misted over. James was still holding onto his hands – and Sirius couldn’t think of a moment in his life when someone had held him so gently. Sirius drew in shallow breaths, and shook his head slowly to rid himself of the blossoming feeling of something, closing his eyes as he felt them welling up. Tears rolled down his cheek instead – mixing with the blood, and he made no attempt to wipe it. The tears drenched the shirt he was wearing, which now had deep red stains at his collar.

Without saying anything, James hugged him. Sirius slumped into the hug, his chest hitching and he openly sobbed into James’s shoulder. He couldn’t find it within himself to stop – and James had let him. He patted Sirius on the back and ran his hand through Sirius’ hair. When Sirius had finally stopped crying, James didn’t leave.

Instead, he curled right up next to Sirius under the duvet and such was the way James acted for every forsaken letter Sirius had gotten from home, for every night reviled with terrors and nightmares.

Just like then, Sirius lay there, curling next to James, basking in the warmth and the comfort of the very few people who truly cared and loved him. Just like then, Sirius had loved him deeply in return – James Potter, his brother; ridiculous messy hair, brash loyalty, and good intentions. James Potter, the defender of miscreants with lack of respect for personal boundaries and all.

As he had expected, James was equally troubled and he had frowned worriedly when Sirius had told him about Greyback Jr. being a bullying git and Remus’ health problem. James then started going off on a tangent, fretting about how to help Remus, and Sirius’ heart softened and again and again he thanked Merlin and Medea for James.

They fell asleep right there – on the rug in front of the dying fire in the fireplace as they talked.

***

It was Saturday morning, and Sirius was lounging on his bike, parked in front of Remus’ house – chain smoking. His hands were jittery, and almost shaking with nerves. He had caught himself tapping his foot impatiently against the asphalt – _bleeding James and his infectious bad habits_. He was on his third cigarette and still, there was no sign of Remus. Sirius hadn’t seen Remus in three whole days and he was jittery with nerves.

Trying to calm himself, he thought back and smiled when he recalled his memory of Remus, particularly the one where he had to tell Remus he wouldn’t be able to come by for three days. Remus, who had looked a bit crestfallen – _Sirius carefully filed that fact away fondly_ – had been very understanding about it all.

Remus said that he’d needed the time to catch up on homework anyway – and he could work on his art stuff. He had smiled sweetly at him, and crossed his heart, doing the gesture and all – albeit a little mockingly. He then cheekily promised that he’d be a good boy and stay out of trouble while walking away and winking at Sirius.

 _‘Honestly,’_ Sirius thought, _‘how am I this lucky?’_

All the bints and wankers he had snogged and shagged at Hogwarts had all been too bloody in love with the idea of him that they’d never thought to just act human around him, or treat him like a person. They had all asked, _no_ , demanded far too much from him, every single time.

They’d wanted the glamour and the fame and the richness. Or his beauty or his body or his attention. When they didn’t get what they wanted – when they couldn’t control him or force his hands to give them what they’d wanted – they’d bitch about, retaliate, or spread nasty dark rumours about him – which was far too easy to believe to begin with, _given who he was_.

Not that it would keep them away from him, no.

Apparently, the allure and the bragging rights that came with shagging the supposed Dark Prince of the Wizarding World far outweigh any of it. ‘The good ones’ had all wanted to be the one who had saved The Dark Prince from a life of evil and the pureblood prats had all wanted to be his Queen and rule the kingdom by his side.

So much so that Sirius was almost resigned to the fact that this was all he’d ever be – a stepping stone to disillusioned bastards, nothing less than a tool – _until Remus._

Remus who’d been lovely and kind to him despite all of his predispositions. Remus who had been patient and gentle with Sirius despite his rotten hand in life. Remus who had let him go on and on about Mrs Potter without even making fun of Sirius for being too sappy about a mother who was not even really his, or being bitter – _Sirius had not forgotten about Remus’ mother_. Remus who had even helped him to come up with the idea for the best present for Mrs. Potter’s birthday.

Remus had even insisted on sending Sirius away with a present from himself, when Sirius dropped him off at home that day. Remus had hurried inside his house – Sirius hadn’t been in since _that night_ – and hurried back out to shove a wonky _Primark_ paper bag tied with a string in Sirius’ hands before quickly pecking Sirius’ cheek goodbye and dashing back in again.

Sirius was so smitten.

And about the birthday party in question, even without James threatening to spell his hair a funny colour – Sirius had really wanted to be there, with his family. Even if it meant not seeing Remus for days.

> _‘Joke’s on you, Jamie. My hair would look good in any colour.’_
> 
> _‘Think you’re good looking enough to pull off a hot pink polka dot hairdo, baby brother?’_

The way the Potters celebrated birthdays was nothing like the sombre and formal functions Sirius' stuffy aristocratic family celebrated theirs. Unlike the Blacks, the Potters were massively popular with the people. Their parties were on everyone’s social calendar. The last party they had thrown – England had won the Quidditch World Cup that year – had gone on for three whole days.

Also, Sirius loved, _loved_ Mrs. Potter very much.

He wouldn’t have missed it even if he was in a dungeon somewhere, chained to a wall, starved for days; which was somewhere he found himself most often during his childhood and in the summers of Hogwarts years.

That was his Mother’s go-to ‘treat’ – that was what she used to call them – all in too mockingly saccharine voice – _‘Oh I’ve got a treat for you, Sirius darling,’_ and snapped her fingers at Kreacher to chuck him in Grimmauld’s Place dungeon. This lovely treatment was the consequences for speaking out of turn, or crossing the line, or for existing, and being, well, _him_. That, and having antique china and Assyrian vases smashed against his skull and fingers.

Lovely.

Personally, Sirius had much preferred the dungeon. At least the rats were a decent bit of company and there was that bit where he didn’t have to look at any of his family members’ faces. It really was a bit of a treat. If Sirius was being honest with himself – he’d acknowledge the fact that there was always this looming fear that Remus might’ve forgotten who he was again – the same sort of fear he’d had in those lovely days alone in the dungeon. When he’d managed to sleep down there, his dreams were riddled with nothing but the phantom images that maybe he’d spent far too long rotting in there, and this time, he wouldn’t be allowed to go back to Hogwarts, and this time, James would’ve forgotten him.

Thus, the chain smoking. Admittedly, the _Remus-forgetting-him_ bit had happened only once or twice since their first meeting; which was disastrous, to put it charitably. Still, worrying hadn’t helped him – ever. So, he occupied his thought by revisiting the plans he had worked out to help Remus.

Since he was in no capacity to help Remus professionally, Sirius had decided that he was going to bring Remus to visit and travel to all the Top Sights in South West England, beginning with the _Top 10 Must Visit Beaches in Cornwall_ or at least per the muggle travel books he pored over. The plan was, they’d go anywhere they could make a day trip on his bike so Remus could return by nightfall to go to school the next day. He had even taken an interest in Remus' homework and assignments – purely for the reason Remus wouldn't be kept for detention, and ruining his plans, of course.

Sirius was going to personally hand craft Remus’ dream out of thin air. See, he had not forgotten that it was Remus’ dream to leave the town. So he kept at that, and they had gone on a couple of trips since, no matter how horrid the thought that these trips were an ‘impermanent fix’ made him feel.

He had yet to figure out what he was going to do when he was away at Hogwarts and Remus was 700 miles away.

On the fastest broom in the world that trip would’ve taken him five hours; and _portkeys_ had always disagreed with him. Even he couldn’t _apparate_ that far. He could risk _apparating_ a couple of times until he reached Remus but even then – it would render his magic unstable and there was the risk of being _splinched_ or dead. Somehow, being dead didn’t appeal to him that much anymore this summer. Also, he’d rather not had the run in with any Ministry personnel – not even the nerds at the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. But, no matter. He was certain he’d figure it out soon. He was a Marauder after all.

Sirius was in the middle of recalling the tourist attraction spots in Penzance when Remus popped out the front door of his house and bounded all the way to Sirius, his backpack swaying about on his back.

Remus was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a deep green jumper – he looked good and he was grinning wildly and unabashedly at him. Sirius, who had always hated the colour green on principal; what was with it being a Slytherin colour and his sodding ancestral home being decked in it – was taken aback at how much he loved _this_ green.

This green of Remus’ baggy jumper made his eyes stand out like they were laid out with a ring of emeralds. They shone brilliantly under the summer sun (it was a rather hot summer due to global warming).

Sirius’ face lit up at the sight of Remus, and he became very still.

Sirius’ pupils were blown wide and he realised that he was consciously trying to not blink. He was drunk on the sight of Remus. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. As he watched Remus walk across the tiny patch of lawn of cement and dying grass to him, he almost wheezed. He knew that he was staring but he couldn’t help himself.

A smiling Remus, walking towards him was a vision of breathtaking beauty.

Sirius swallowed and his lips parted slowly before it bloomed into a wide smile for Remus.

Remus was still grinning when he stopped by Sirius’ side and put both of his hands that were half covered by his sleeves on each side of Sirius’ cheeks to cup his face gently. He then pulled Sirius close to him and kissed Sirius softly on his still smiling lips. It was clumsy and soft and tender and there was a slight juxtaposing hardness of Remus’ teeth on his lips but Sirius hadn’t mind.

He was in heaven.

Remus smiled shyly at Sirius when he pulled back, just a little bit to gauge Sirius’ reaction. He still hadn’t let go of Sirius’ face – they were so close together that Sirius could feel Remus’ warm breath on his skin, and he could count each and every freckle that blossomed across his cheeks and nose, like stars on a bleak night.

Sirius let his eyes roam and took in Remus’ features. He couldn’t decide which he loved more about him – his forest green eyes – there were specks of amber in them that he noticed after they had their first kiss, like flickers of gold and celestial citrine; or his lips – his soft, warm, red lips. Sirius was rather fond of the idea of being lost in either of them forever.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a thin, faint line of fading scar across Remus’ face, and he let his eyes trace over it – the scar ran from under the crease of Remus’ left eye across the bridge of his nose and it went down, sharp on his right cheek. Now that he was looking closely, he could see there were a couple more scars just as faintly across Remus’ face.

There was something intriguing about the scars.

Sirius of course didn’t mind them. If anything, he thought he was rather fond of them. He decided that there was a badass quality about them. Anyway, he wouldn’t want to ruin this fragile thing that they have between them by being a berk and pointing them out. Even his pureblood manners were far more refined than that. Wait, cross that, he wanted to be a better person than whoever he was. So, he pushed that thought out of his head and leaned in to kiss Remus in return.

Now that Remus was right in front of him, in his arms, he wasn’t going to waste another second mulling over other things – well, technically – he was in Remus’s arms but _semantics_. Sirius pressed his lips softly against Remus’, and relished in the intoxicating sensation – he was getting lightheaded already, Merlin. Sirius pressed himself closer to Remus, and slowly ran a hand down to his waist, and instinctively bunched up Remus’ jumper in his fingers – to try to hold on to something, as he deepened the kiss; tasting, and pushing, gently stroking his tongue and he could feel Remus moaning softly against his mouth.

His grip on Remus grew more possessive and intense and his fingers toyed with the bottom hem of Remus’ jumper – desperately wishing that he could touch, no, _needing_ that there could only be them – skin against skin and nothing more in the world. When Remus dragged his teeth playfully across Sirius’ lower lip, and nipped it hard, Sirius shuddered and he pulled back – mouth open, and he was visibly panting. That was a bit much. The heat had gone straight to his cock. He needed to spend at least an hour in the Thames to come back from this. When Sirius opened his eyes, Remus was looking at him – with a smug, cocky grin on his face, the cheeky bugger.

But Sirius didn’t mind, and anyway they had places to go, and things to do, and they were spending time together anyway. He could definitely sneak in at least another dozen kisses along the way.

Sirius leaned in for one quick peck on Remus’ lips before reaching for Remus’ hands and intertwining their fingers together. He looked down at their laced fingers fondly, his light brown against Remus’ fair skin, ambled about, stroking his thumb against Remus’ skin – and more so to steady his nerves, but nobody needed to know that. He then brought up Remus’ right hand against his lips, to press a long deep kiss against the warm, delicate skin on the inside of Remus’ wrist, right on his beating pulse, all the while gazing deep into Remus’ eyes. Sirius felt a jolt of elation and excitement as Remus blushed beautifully.

At the sight of that, he smiled and handed Remus the passenger helmet and led Remus gently by the hand around for him to climb on the motorcycle. Remus settled in the seat behind him and immediately wrapped his arms around Sirius’ waist and leaned in close against his back, with his head resting comfortably in the nook of Sirius’ shoulder. Remus then took his time to lick and taste that sensitive spot behind Sirius’ ear before sucking it hard, and proper – his teeth playing with the skin, and Sirius had to bite his lips so hard that it drew blood – to stop himself from moaning embarrassingly loudly in the middle of a Muggle street in the middle of the fucking day.

He had to think of several unholy things to stop himself from coming in his jeans right there and then – dead babies rotting on the streets, Madam Pince in a skimpy swimsuit, and even Filch in micro skin-tight trunks. Holy Merlin’s pointy hats, he felt like he had died a million little deaths in the short time Remus had stepped out of his front door.

He was so lost in his head that when Remus whispered, _‘Come on then,’_ in his ears in that sultry voice of his, Sirius felt like he had been struck by lightning twelve times in a row. Sirius could do nothing but gave his bike a swift kick to start, bit harder than necessary (he’d apologise to Elvendork later), jammed his helmet on and together, they – raging hard cock and teenage hormones and all, raced down one of the most scenic route in the South West to Penzance, for their first weekend trip together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by Arctic Monkeys
> 
> Poem is “Little Beast” by Richard Siken
> 
> Primark is a popular chain of fast fashion retailer in Britain that sell clothes at a decent price.
> 
> ***


	6. Back in Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peonies garden, a moon bridge, and the best mum in the world, probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Coming out to parents and being outed (Almost? But it was not malicious. Promise.). 
> 
> It starts at _**“Who’s Remus, love?...”**_ and if you wish to skip it, its just up until the two lines of dialogues underneath it.

_Il m’est donné de voir ma vie finir  
Avec la tienne  
Ma vie en ton pouvoir  
Que j’ai crue infinite_

_Et l’avenir mon seul espoir c’est mon tombeau  
Pareil au tien, cerné d’un monde indifférent  
J’étais si près de toi que j’ai froid près des autres._

I was meant to see my life finish  
With yours  
My life in your power  
That I thought infinite

And in the future my only hope is my tomb  
Like yours, surrounded by an indifferent world  
I was so close to you that I am cold next to others

☆

The morning after Mrs. Potter’s birthday party, as per tradition, the family sat together for breakfast where they ate the leftover birthday cakes and catering food. They always had plenty leftovers as their mum (fondly known as Effie) and Misty, their house elf, would cook for a week straight in preparation for the party.

Effie would unwrap the presents in between bites. Monty (Mr. Potter) would read the paper, and Sirius and James helped make a mess out of things. The fact that Monty and Effie being all around generous, selfless and compassionate human beings were reasons enough for their popularity in the magical community. They were always ready to help anyone in need, and if that person was a stranger, it was all the better! They loved making new friends and they genuinely believed that lending someone in need a hand was a sure-fire way to start a friendship, and so it was.

Their parties were never short of guests and people would come from afar and abroad just to be there. Of course, the topping on the proverbial cake was that Effie was an amazing cook. Her food was simply divine, and the recipes of her home cooked meals were a household name in their own right. In fact, it was what cemented the many friendships they have. As Effie had often said, _‘share a piece of bread, you’ll keep a mate.’_ Sirius was rather fond of the thought that he’d maybe inherited his love of cheesy puns and corny jokes from Effie.

That morning, as they sat for breakfast, Effie was busy unwrapping a mountain of presents; James and Sirius had progressed to rolling around on the kitchen floor tackling and tossing each other about in the name of _‘cake war’_ as they have begun calling it – or the elaborate tactical process of smearing more and more cake on each other’s faces – was when Effie unwrapped the present.

“Sirius, love. Is this from one of your mates?” Effie asked, holding up a beautiful water colour painting.

Sirius looked up, distracted from a cake war attack manoeuvre, and James had taken the opportunity to shove a large amount of chocolate buttercream frosting in his face – some of it had gotten up his nose and Sirius stood up fast, almost choking and spluttering.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin, James. That was low!”

“All’s fair in love and cake war, little brother.”

“I’m older than you!”

“I’m mum’s first born!”

“ _Nice one_ , James, that one almost made _some_ sense –”

“Boys, that’s quite enough,” Monty said without looking up from the paper he was reading, sensing a full-blown food fight coming – and knowing he needed to deescalate the situation. Monty was acutely aware that he’d probably have to spend the rest of the day cleaning up their mess if he didn’t put a stop to it. His sons’ food fights were a force to be reckoned with. The last time they had one, Monty had to go and apologise to everyone in the neighbourhood – and their nearest neighbour was at least 15 miles away.

“Sirius love, this one’s made out to ‘Sirius’ mum’, but it doesn’t say who it is from. Would you take a look please, hun?” Effie asked while holding out the painting to Sirius.

Sirius flicked off as much frosting as he could in James’ direction in the guise of brushing his hair out of his face and stepped smartly over James who was still on the floor. He ignored James’ indignant cry and held his head up with as much poise he could muster and walked over to his mum to look at the painting in question.

It was breathtaking – a gorgeous landscape painting of a picturesque meadow. On the far-right corner, there was a run-down cottage overrun with ivy all the way up to the slanted roof on the left side, where there were shadows cast by looming trees behind the cottage. The cottage looked cozy. Rustic and frozen in time. But it was perfect to him. It was the stuff of his daydreams. A simple life out in the woods somewhere, being neighbours with wooden nymphs and faes. Living and breathing instead of running and substituting one shelter for another – looking for a sanctuary.

A _home_. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he belongs.

A stream ran from the forest – to the front of the cottage, under a moon bridge, and all the way to the edge of the painting. Sirius thought of the possibility of learning how to fish there – finally finding out what _plimpies_ actually looked like perhaps (the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them book was being rather suspicious on how vague they were on that front. Sirius had decided that the old codger Newt was hiding something.). Maybe even wage a war of mischief against the local _knocker_ , the English leprechauns. Although, you wouldn’t want to say that to their face. They were very proud creatures.

The sun glinted brightly off the paper in a fashion of small glazes of white paint – mixing in gracefully with gradients of soft hue – greens of the meadows and the greys of the cottage wall. Sirius thought of a summer spent in the meadow. A picnic maybe, or maybe he could have his own garden!

Imagine a field of sunflowers! A peonies garden!

Sirius sighed wistfully and finally noticed the artist's signature.

Right there, at the bottom right corner of the painting were three letters – ‘R.J.L’.

 _‘Remus,’_ Sirius thought and he started to tear up. He clamped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from openly sobbing, and he started to sway on his feet – feeling lightheaded.

Effie, who had been watching him, quickly put the painting down on the dining table and pulled Sirius in for a hug.

At some point, James and Monty had joined in – he could tell from the smell of coffee and chocolates. As he basked in the safety and the comfort of his family, his mind ran wild. He felt overwhelmed by the surge of emotions.

He didn’t even know why he was crying.

***

After Sirius had gotten himself cleaned up and drank two cups of his favourite Darjeeling – plenty of milk with two tea spoons of brown sugar – he felt more like himself. He went downstairs, resolute that he’d tell his mum everything, hoping that she’d understand. And more so, she deserved to know. He found his mum and James lounging in the left wing sitting room. Effie was poring over a book on the sofa and James was toasting marshmallow over a jar of blue fire. From the sound coming from the kitchen, Monty was probably back there cleaning with the help of Misty.

He steeled himself, and walked over to his mum. Sirius plopped himself right next to her on the sofa.

She put her book down – it was one of the cookbooks that he had bought for her birthday present. Remus had helped pick out the books with him at a muggle bookstore just a couple of days ago. At the thought of Remus, Sirius started to tear up again, and he closed his eyes, as his tears rolled down his cheek steadily. Effie pulled Sirius close to her, and kissed the top of his head and she wrapped her hands around him in a bear hug, soothing him. It was a Potter thing – these hugs, and Sirius couldn’t love it more.

Sirius ended up resting his head on his mum’s lap, and letting her stroke his hair and bask in the feeling of safety and comfort.

After a couple moments of silence, Sirius opened his eyes to see his mum looking at him. Her brown kind eyes that James had inherited were full of concern. Her lips were pursued in a tight line, there was a slight frown creasing her forehead – for she didn’t like it when her sons were upset.

Sirius took in a deep breath, and started talking,

“Mum, that painting you got? It was from Remus. He made it.”

“Who’s Remus, love?”

“His boyfriend,” James supplied, unhelpfully, while trying to stuff fifteen toasted marshmallows at once in his mouth.

“Shut it you, _berk_ ,” Sirius hissed at James through gritted teeth, tension tight in his voice, and he threw a sofa cushion at him in retaliation, the sodding shite.

This was not how he planned to tell his mum that he was bent. He had been hoping that she was in a better mood for one – maybe during the birthday breakfast, surrounded by gifts and chocolate cakes.

James dodged the cushion easily and he remained unbothered, cocking up an unimpressed eyebrow at Sirius, and started trying to toast biscuits over the fire.

Fuck. _‘Might as well do this, then,’_ Sirius thought.

He looked up to his mum to see her frown had grown deeper. _‘Oh, no, oh fuck.’_ His mouth felt dry and he threw a hurried glance at James to throw caution in the air. But James was deeply unaware of the chasm-sized anxiety that had appeared in his chest. Sirius shifted about in his mum’s lap, almost rolling off the couch. He was feeling very uncomfortable now of the proximity and trying to come up with an excuse to bolt –

“All right there, love?” his mum asked softly, with a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

Sirius nodded weakly, as he closed his eyes again and resigned himself to his fate. So much for running away.

“Sirius? Love?” Effie’s gentle voice rang in his ears but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and look at her. He didn’t think that he could survive the look of disappointment directed at him if it comes from her. He started crying again.

At that, James had joined them on the couch, abandoning his marshmallows and biscuits, probably sensing that he’d fucked up. He nudged at Sirius’ feet – lifting them up and resting them in his lap.

Effie hugged him immediately and to Sirius’ surprise, he felt tears falling on his face. Tears – that were not his. He blinked his own tears away and looked at his mum. The sight of her sad face broke his heart. But he couldn’t think of anything to say – he didn’t think that there were words to say how sorry you were for making your mum cry.

“Love, I’m sorry if we – if _I_ ever gave you the impression that you couldn’t say something to us. We love you no matter what. Whoever you choose to love – that doesn’t matter to us.”

_‘Oh.’_

Her grips around him tightened and Sirius returned her hugs.

“I’m sorry, mum. I wanted to tell you this morning, promise. I’ve just… he is… we've talked about it but… ” Sirius tried, as he rushed through his words.

Sirius scrubbed his face in frustration. He scrunched up his face, and tried to relax but he couldn’t. _‘How did anyone ever do this?!’_ Sirius thought frustratedly. He hadn’t bothered saying anything before when he was shagging all those boys at school. But this was different, this was Remus for fuck’s sake. He had to do this right. He was about to open his mouth to say something but Effie cut him off.

“No, I’m sorry, love. This isn’t about me. Tell me now, later, or never. It doesn’t matter to me. As long as you’re happy.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too, Pads. It wasn't my place to say anything. I shouldn’t have done that,” James said.

Sirius sniffled and shook his head. He knew that James meant no harm. He had wanted to tell his Mum anyway – and James knew, and James had supported his big queer revelation. Still, this deserved a retaliation.

“It’s okay, Jamie. I know that keeping your big fat mouth shut is a two-man job,” Sirius said, and leaned forward to reach up and pinch James' lips shut together with his fingers.

“OY!” James managed to get out.

“See, even with the both of us working hard at it, it’s _very hard_ to keep your trap shut.”

“PADS. LET GO.”

“Why yes Jamie, thank you for acknowledging that I am the bigger man for letting this go.”

“MUM–”

“Stop whinging Jamie Fleamont. I’m trying to help you here.”

“PADS, IF YOU DON’T LET GO – I’LL CRASH YOUR DATE TOMORROW.”

“You dare?!”

“YES. I’LL TELL REMUS EVERY EMBARRASSING STORY ABOUT YOU – EVEN THE PUDDING INCIDENT.”

“Lies and slander!!”

“WHAT SLANDER YOU LITTLE –”

James then had managed to flip Sirius onto the floor, and Sirius, who’d anticipated this, managed to roll over to sit on his chest and pin his arms on his side and lick James’ face – all slobber and drool –

“PADFOOT GEROFF YOU MANGY MUTT –”

But the rest of James' words were drowned by his giggles as Sirius had proceeded to tickling the sides of his torso, where James was most ticklish.

“Yield!!”

“NEVER –”

“Yield!!”

“PADS I SWEAR – MUM –”

Effie watched her two boys play-fight from the couch, smiling and shaking her head. She picked her recipe book up, and got lost reading through it as her sons rolled around the floor tackling and tickling each other. She was not worried anymore. She was giving Sirius his space.

She knew that she’d done all that she could and the best thing she could give him right now was time – _this was never about her._

She was right of course.

Later that evening, Sirius had come trudging into the Potter Estate’s vegetable garden looking for her. Her son plopped down next to her, and sat crossed leg on the ground, watching her work as she dug up weeds from her tomato plants with a small trowel. He told her everything about Remus, as Effie pulled up the weeds by their roots. This had always been her favourite part of gardening – _cathartic_ was the word for it, she thought.

Afterwards, Sirius helped her heap up mulch on the tomato plants and hollowed out basins around them, watering them, and the works.

Granted, Sirius had wanted to _incendio_ the weeds she had pulled out instead of carrying the lot to the compost bin out back. Effie had to remind him that he probably had to get used to _‘all these manky and dodgy and muggle-y stuff’_ – his words, _‘if he is dating Remus.’_ Sirius had then smiled sheepishly and carried the trowels of weeds over to the compost bin without another word.

She listened to him talk about Remus for hours in between helping her pruning the herbs – he had wanted to use _diffindo_ for that. Effie had to say no and told him that would be unkind to the herbs. He had also helped clean out the bird baths and topped up the water – she had to agree that with the use of _scourgify_ and _aguamenti_ for that one, it only made sense.

It was almost dusk when they finally went in. Effie let him talk. She didn’t pry or push him to tell her more than he was comfortable with sharing. She was grateful that Sirius had told her, and she would always be there for him – for anything, and she had told him so. Sirius admitted that it probably wasn’t very prim and proper of him to return the sentiment out loud, but he did, in his own many colourful words that _he’d set the world on fire twice over for her._

This, just them talking – had always been one of Effie’s favourite parts of being a mother. Plenty of her many treasured memories with her sons were just like these; and she had remembered them well until Death crossed the Potters’ threshold.

***

When Sirius and Remus arrived in Penzance, it was almost noon and Sirius brought them to this quaint café nearby the place they would be staying. Sirius requested a table on the deck that was overlooking the coast – it was a top priority of Sirius now to make sure that Remus felt safe and comfortable and as far away as possible from anything that might trigger him.

One of the muggle travel books had rated the café number one in the area. Apparently, it had an oceanfront view that was said to be ‘unrivalled’.

Sitting there, on the sun deck, stuffing himself silly with cream tea and smoked chicken ciabatta and club sandwiches and crab salad, Sirius had to admit that the view was magnificent. But it was nothing next to the sight of Remus enjoying himself – Remus was humming as he spilt scones after scones with his hands, and covering them generously with cream, _and then_ jam.

 _‘How scandalous,’_ Sirius had thought. Remus hadn’t even noticed that Sirius had signaled the waiter to bring more cream and jam to their table.

Sirius watched him bemusedly, as he arranged those scones carefully around his plate after he had finished with the whole cream and jam dance. He then picked the scones up one by one delicately by his dainty fingers and darted his pink tongue out to lick at the brimming mixtures of cream and jam around the edges almost obscenely, before he ate them whole. Sirius spluttered on his tea at this, and one of his elbows had ended up in the salad.

Remus who was unbelievably oblivious to Sirius’ misfortune and inner struggle had chosen that very moment to wonder out loud _– how odd it was for a café with such great food and view to be almost empty during lunch hour._

Sirius hadn’t had the guts to tell him that he’d called ahead a couple of days ago using one of the few remaining public phone boxes in Hampshire and reserved the rest of the remaining tables for their lunch, not wanting to leave things up to chance. He didn’t know how Remus would react to either of that.

When he called the café, they had asked him if he would like any of their special packages. They had all sorts of special romantic occasions catered – anniversaries, and surprise proposals and weddings because their establishment was a very popular spot for it. Sirius had thought, and hoped and prayed that St Senara had heard him _– that maybe one day he’d be lucky enough to say yes to have one of those with his Remus._

The café people were quite surprised that it was just for lunch, but they had been very accommodating when he offered to pay everything up front. He’d managed this by putting down his debit card number – he had that now, realising he wouldn’t survive in the muggle world without it when he was trying to buy his flat. He had then paid ahead for those reservations and for closing half the café down, plus a very generous tip.

Earning financial independence was a bit of a challenge to him at first.

The muggle world didn’t recognise an emancipated seventeen-year-old as a legal adult, but his dad was game to ~~hustle~~ help him out with it, now that Monty was living off the fortune of selling his Sleekeazy's Hair Potion company and was no longer much occupied with it. After all, Monty was an entrepreneur at heart with a business acumen – Monty had said he would be lying if he’d say that he wasn’t intrigued in the way muggle banking works, and figuring his way out around it. Who was to say he wouldn’t be bored out of his mind with retirement in a couple of years and wouldn’t try his hand on growing a real estate business – muggles or wizards, they were all fair game.

Anyhow, the whole thing with the public phone box had James whinging at him. James didn’t appreciate being dragged halfway across the village to accompany Sirius to make a bleeding restaurant reservation for his date. Sirius had to bite back a snap and point out nicely that James hadn’t even bothered to ask where Sirius was going before jumping on Elvendork’s passenger seat. James was still a bit tetchy from the combination of the birthday party punch and missing Evans. She couldn’t make it to the party because of her sister’s engagement party.

He understood now of course. For Sirius was missing Remus too much himself that he felt like every inch of his body was on fire from the yearning, and his heart ached terribly that he suspected there was only sludge of his liquidised fond for Remus pumping through his veins. So, when James suggested that they just go ahead and get one of those muggle mobiles for themselves so they could call Remus and Lily anytime instead of this public phone nightmare and using the bleeding owl posts, Sirius could not agree fast enough. At least that way they could talk anytime – provided that they figured out a way of not to fry up those mobiles with their magic.

That night after dinner, he and James kissed their mum on the cheeks goodbye and gave their dad a hug before they flew back to Sirius’ flat on Elvendork. Lily _apparated_ in soon after. Later, when James and Lily had managed to disentangle their limbs from one another, they went on to foray into muggle London, with Lily as their guide. The Marauders were on a mission to procure those muggle mobiles for themselves.

There was a jobsworth with oily hair behind the mobile shop counter that helped them with their purchase who reminded Sirius of that slime ball Snivellus. Partly because of his hair, and partly because he was a horrible excuse for a human being. Oliver – his name tag had read – hadn’t even bothered to hide his appalling horror and disgusted exasperation at Sirius’ and James’ poor knowledge in anything technology. He had given them the once over once they stepped into the shop – a barmy one with a fruit name. _‘Olly, mate, is the shop name a sex thing or an inside joke?’_ – Sirius had asked the question out loud to Olly, who looked like he’d turf them out that very moment over that nickname alone.

Still, Olly was being a miserable dickwad on purpose. He gave them a look that plainly said – _‘look, if you’re not going to buy anything, fuck off.’_ Granted that they looked a bit skint – with Sirius in his ripped jeans and grotty black shirt; James who hadn’t bothered to keep up with muggle fashion but insisted on wearing his Holyhead Harpies jumper anywhere. Still, there was no harm in Olly acting like a decent human being.

James and Sirius didn’t give a kipper’s dick of course. In fact, they thought of it as an evening well spent as they riled up Olly with increasingly daft questions about _networks_ and _electronics_ as the sod got increasingly stroppy when he set up their mobiles. The bloke couldn’t turn them away as James had bought four top of the line mobiles from the shop and paid in cash for the lot of them – two matching red ones for him and Lily, and grey for Sirius and a midnight green one for Remus (James had insisted, of course).

Sirius swore that Olly almost sparked out when Sirius took the midnight green one and gave it a sharp whack against the shop’s pristine white counter. That bit was all part of his grand plan and if he could torture the mangy bastard along with it, all the better.

When Lily joined in the fun to get the poor bloke’s mad up; stage-whispering conspiratorially to the sod that she heard from her sister that _‘these 4G networks are secretly giving people cancer’_ and she did hear that _‘if you whack it proper before using it, it can prevent you from catching it’_ before sneaking a wink at him. Sirius couldn’t stop himself from grinning at her.

Maybe Lily wasn’t half bad after all.

Once they had gotten back to the Potters’ cottage – to save Sirius some travel time to Remus’ the next day – Sirius and James on Elvendork, and Lily by the floo; Lily had then spent the rest of the night helping Sirius download the entirety of Fleetwood Mac and Queen’s discography to his iTunes library. Sirius had immediately played the albums out loud starting with _‘Rumours’._

Sirius was also very excited when he found out that muggles had this thing they called a ‘video’ – something like a wizard’s photograph, but with sounds! So, he went about the cottage, getting on James’ tit filming Lily and James and taking a ridiculous amount of photos of them. He was pretty nervy about his upcoming weekend trip with Remus and he was aware he was driving James and Lily mad with his antics. But, how was he supposed to calm down at the thought of spending two whole days with Remus?

That set his teeth on edge so he didn’t focus on it.

Which led back to Sirius being jittery at lunch, at one the most beautiful places he’d ever been to, sitting across the person currently taking up the prime real estate of his piddly list of the _people-he’d-jump-in front of-unforgivable curses-for_ and his heart.

“Remus?”

“Wasson.”

“Bless you?”

“No. Never mind – that’s just how we say hi round here.”

“Right uh, mum sends her love and thanks for the present. It's brilliant! She’d framed it and hung it up in the foyer and everything.”

“No worries, love. Glad to hear she likes it.”

“Oh, and uh, my brother – James, he said hi too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he uh… he’s asked about you. He's a bit of a nosey Parker.”

“Hah. A family thing then?”

“Sorry?”

“Take the piss, babe.”

“Right. He – uh. The thing is, he –”

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Spit it out, will you?”

_“Hewanttogiveyouthismobile.”_

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that?”

Sirius sighed and nervously fished out the slightly dinged-up midnight green mobile from his pocket and slided it across the table to Remus. It was a ruse, see. He had thought that maybe Remus would be much more susceptible to the idea of accepting the mobile if it didn’t look like it was mint and was just bought yesterday. Remus had only frowned at the mobile, like it had personally wronged him. Sirius realised a little too late now – what a blantanly stupid idea it was, after it had been played out.

“What’s this about?” Remus asked, sounding quite cross.

“He bought a new phone the other day, matching ones, for him and his girlfriend and he –”

“Yeah?” Remus said testily, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“He heard what happened to yours and he wanted to give you this old one and –”

“Oh thanks. But I’m not a charity case,” Remus said, catching on and cutting him off.

“Look, Remus. _James_ – this – it’s a Potter thing. It’s what his family does. They pick up strays – like me, give away family heirlooms to strangers, and buy dinner for the whole restaurant when they go out. It's barmy, but it’s just them. Honestly, if he had his way, he’d buy you a new one,” Sirius managed to say with a straight face because this wasn’t technically a lie though, right?

“I appreciate the gesture but –”

“Look, the way I see it, I owe you a mobile.”

“How did you figure that?”

“Well, you basically jumped up to defend my honour against three sodding trolls. Your mobile was war casualty.”

“Right.”

“He called me a _rent boy_.”

“I was there, Sirius.”

Sirius was getting nowhere fast, and he knew exactly how that scenario would often end – with at least half a dozen explosions and hexes. He was Sirius Black after all. He didn’t lay back down to think or sort out his mess. He just made a bigger mess and let James suss the first one out. But he couldn’t do this with Remus. So, he tried.

“Consider it a loan then. Return it whenever or never. It’ll just be lying around the house anyway. Also, Lily – that’s his girlfriend, she helped download all the Queen and Fleetwood Mac albums, for you.”

At that, Remus’ expression softened a bit and he picked up the mobile gingerly with his hand. Immediately he began to tap the screen and do various gestures with his fingers that Sirius couldn’t possibly have the vocabulary to explain.

“You know you could just trade the phone in at CEX or just sell it on Ebay right? This is the latest full-spec model. You could get a couple hundred quids for this, easy – maybe a little less than the market price for this unholy ding on the back. Still, this colour is quite in demand at the moment –”

Sirius’ mouth opened and closed a couple of times, as he listened to Remus prattled on and on. He was glad that Remus had at least taken the mobile off him. But, Sirius felt so out of his depth at the way the conversation had gone on that he felt like he was having tea with the merpeople at the bottom of the Black Lake.

Honestly – he had only caught that bit about selling it, so he pressed his luck and asked stupidly,

“Sell?”

“On Ebay.”

“To the fey?” because, Sirius thought, _‘what the sodding fuck?’_

“Are you being daft on purpose? Ebay? Like the market thing online? Honestly, sometimes it's like you’re _really_ from outer space – an actual star slash astronomical rock.”

Sirius tried to look indignant at the dig but failed miserably as Remus shot a scrutinising look at him. Remus then sighed exasperatedly before he tapped on the phone screen a couple of times and drew up a web page on the internet – which Sirius knew now – and showed him the offending ‘Ebay’. He had visited a couple of web pages himself – Lily had managed to teach him a bit last night, but he was too distracted to remember much. He was quite fond of Google and the one with the many little cats pictures though – _Jumbler? Grumbler? Tobler?_

Remus sighed again and gestured for Sirius to look at something he was doing on the phone screen. It was quite awkward for him to keep leaning across the table to see the things Remus wanted to show. So, he went around the table to sit next to Remus, trying to listen to him, which was hard because Remus looked fit – _‘when had he never?’_ Sirius’ mind countered.

He then used the wind as an excuse to snuggle in closer to Remus, whinging – _‘Can’t we just have one summer? Once, every ten years maybe? Who do I have to sacrifice to make it happen?’_ and whinged about it some more; _‘The wind is out to get me Re, my hair is a mess and it’s as cold as a witch’s tit out here,’_ and Remus let him.

After all that, the argument about Remus not keeping the phone ended, and instead it turned into a bit of a crash course on technology for Sirius. _‘When you fuck off to school,’_ Remus had asked – _‘is it to a sodding castle full of snotty princes like you in arse end of space nowhere with no access to any modern civilisation?’_

Sirius had wanted to take a swan dive off the café’s sun deck right into the coast there and then to avoid answering that question. Instead he muttered ‘strict boarding school policy’ and ‘traditional aristocratic statutes’ that weren’t _that_ far off the truth.

Otherwise, it was quite a lovely lunch, if you ask him. Remus had helped him _‘install’_ some _‘applications’_ on his mobile, and Remus had tried very hard not to roll his eyes at Sirius every time Sirius asked what he suspected were very daft questions indeed.

Instead he patiently answered them – _‘No, Sirius, you don’t have to install Google’. ‘People don’t generally download the internet either, yeah’. ‘You don’t buy music on sodding iTunes, just use Spotify, honestly!’ ‘No, don’t buy into the consumerism bullshit and pay for the premium account. Just listen to the sodding adverts!’_

They sat there for hours, talking about nothing and everything; the air was heavy with everything unspoken between them – the impermanence, the time they never had, and the wanting that crowded the endless space between them.

The Atlantic warring endless blue waves onto the canvas and the sky retaliated with equally composing passion and Sirius could see them out there – the sea and the sky – on and on and infinite, but they would never belong. They would never have a day of each other, not even a second. Their paths would never cross.

People would watch this spectacle of tragic epic and wax poetry of beauty, when in all genuine truths, it was of lovers that would never be one. The currency of their love was none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by Arctic Monkeys
> 
> Poem is “Ma Morte Vivante” by Éluard
> 
> p/s: Éluard is absolutely the one person dead or alive I’d want to have dinner with. We’d get drunk (like near alcohol poisoning, had-to-get-my-stomach-pump-in-the-morning drunk) by the Seine and shit talk the bourgeois and chain smoke while he writes exponentially depressing poems about his (ex) lovers on napkins as the night passes and we’d wrap it around bricks and set them on fire and throw them through his (ex) lovers’ windows and I’ll let him slip monkshood in my drinks. 
> 
> ***


	7. Dreams - Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gold room, molten silver, and midnight green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child Endangerment in the first paragraph.
> 
> Also, there is quite a large chunk of explicit scene (m/m sex) in this chapter. If you'd rather skip that stop reading at _**he pulled Remus in for a searing hot kiss...**_ You can pick it back up at _**...That night**_ (last paragraph).

“I had a dream about you.  
We were in the gold room  
where everyone finally gets what they want.  
You said, ‘Tell me about your books,  
your visions made of flesh and light  
and I said This is the Moon.  
This is the Sun.  
Let me name the stars for you.  
Let me take you there.’  
The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube…

We were in the gold room  
where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said  
‘What do you want, sweetheart?’  
and you said ‘Kiss me.’  
Here I am leaving you clues.  
I am singing now while Rome burns.  
We are all just trying to be holy.  
My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me.  
We are all going forward.  
None of us are going back.”

☾

Later that night, Remus was awakened by his usual nightmare. Tonight’s circadian horror-induced trauma was no worse than usual. But, there was something jarring about it. Remus was standing outside glass cages, hundreds of them, all the way down an endless unlit corridor. There were children inside, young and grown, down and dejected and damaged – all of them wearing his face. He screamed and shouted at them, to help them, to tell them to run – yelled himself hoarse for hours but they didn’t even look up. He ran down the corridor, ran around the cages, tiring himself out for nothing.

Remus woke up out of breath, throat aching and his face wet with tears. He could still feel the ghost of terror, the sheer helplessness. It unnerved and disarmed him. It had always been worse when he was anxious, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why. It might’ve been the news he had read the day before in class for English. Or it might be something about his mother because that was it if we’re talking about his life really – school and his mum. You didn't have to tell him how pathetic it was, Remus was well aware.

He didn’t recognise where he was when he woke up – but forgetting things was not a jump off reality for him. He’d done this his entire life.

More than once he had bumped into his mum while he was out and about in the city and she was doing the weekly shop or was out with her friends and he wasn’t able to recognise her. He reckoned he wouldn’t even know it was her if she was standing on his feet screaming bloody murders at him and bashing his head against the shop’s wall. No, not if he was having one of his moments.

Once, one of her mum’s friends had grabbed him by the shoulder, and threw a bleeding wobbly right in the middle of the high street for being quote-unquote _an ungrateful waste of space and fucking troublesome and useless piece of shite._ It was unnerving, yes, having a stranger yell at you in public for the world to see like you’ve murdered their first born, but it was harrowing to later learn that your own mother stood by and did nothing as if you deserved it. He’d only realised it long after, every fucking time – his brain whirred about in the background sluggishly trying to match the face to a name. He knew that he knew of her somehow – her features seemed familiar, but it was like trying to draw up buckets of water from a sand dune.

It did something to your head, things like that.

Reaching blindly under his pillow for his phone, Remus squinted at the screen to figure out the when-about of the ungodly hour he had woken up on. It was 3.12 am and he willed himself to get up and go drink something to calm down except, except, he couldn’t because someone’s arm was draped around him. Technically, on the duvet that was blanketing him, but still.

There was a sleeping person next to him in his bed.

There never was a person in his bed.

There was a ring on that hand’s finger. Remus blinked at it, trying to get his eyes to adjust in the darkness and considered it as his brain worked overtime in the background. It was a black signet ring – with coats of arms engraved on it that Remus couldn’t read in the dark room. Remus was quite certain then that he didn’t know anyone royal or posh enough to own a bloody signet ring, let alone to be in bed with him when his mind clicked. That posho – what was his name again – something bleeding ridiculous, something comets or planets or stars – ah, right, _stars_!

Sirius! He was with Sirius. He couldn’t remember where he was though. Would probably be rude to wake Sirius up at bleeding o’clock in the morning to bother him with something like that. He should probably get a grip and drink water. He could check Google Maps later on his phone. It wouldn’t probably work as well offline – he hadn’t topped up his phone credit in a while. Maybe he could wander around to look for Wi-Fi.

Using the tips of his fingers, Remus gently and carefully held Sirius’ wrist and moved the hand that was resting on his chest. The gesture felt so dangerously intimate. Oddly enough, Remus felt like he was stuck in a limbo of paradoxes. He shook his head wildly, made a grab at his phone and swung his feet off the bed. He made his way blindly around the strange room. It was huge. On the other side of the room, instead of walls, there were just windows. Huge ones – ceiling to floor kind of windows.

Remus forgot about his water or the map and instead, he waddled up to the windows.

The sea was out there – just outside of the windows, everywhere he looked, everywhere he turned. It glittered – dark and silver in the almost full moon. The coast ran for miles on his left. To his right, a gaudy headland was in sight. Beyond it, there was nothing but waves and stars. He sank to the floor, completely in awe at the wondrous sight in front of him.

Remus took his phone out from his pocket to take a photo of the sight, realising he was wearing pyjama bottoms and nothing else – a bit odd, but at least he wasn’t sleeping in his uniform again – and made to tap his password habitually when he realised that the phone wasn’t his.

He held it up to his face to get a proper look at it and was startled when it was unlocked automatically using facial recognition software. The phone’s home screen was a picture of him, and Sirius, kissing his cheek – and Remus was smiling so wide that there were crinkles in his eyes.

 _‘What in the name of St Senara’s holy mermaid chair was going on? Is this my phone?’_ Remus thought.

His fingers were trembling with nerves as he fumbled with the phone. When he went on to scroll through the phone’s photo album, he saw that there were only photos from today/yesterday – and there were hundreds of photos of him and Sirius. _Them_ eating at a very fancy looking restaurant outdoors, _them_ walking by that very bay Remus could see from the window, _them_ pulling silly faces at each other, _them_ posing for cheeky selfies on a motorcycle, _them_ cuddling on the bed – _them_.

There were ones that didn’t make sense to Remus too.

A couple of photos of a tall Indian bloke with a girl that had fiery red hair. Some of them with Sirius too. They were flipping off the cameras in almost all of them, grinning cheekily at the person taking the photos like it amused them so.

Remus couldn’t tell if he had met them? His head was still swimming with thoughts of little children in glass cages and he didn’t know, he was so unsure about a lot of things that were currently going on. He fiddled about with the phone, trying to understand, to remember. But he had found nothing. Remus clicked the phone shut and put it down. He shuffled closer to the window. They didn’t open, only the smallest panel could budge a bit, and he pushed it open.

He sat right in front of it, leaning his head against its frame; shut his eyes and tried to control his breathing. He should remember yesterday, he looked fine in the photos, he wasn’t having one of his episodes. In fact, he had looked happy.

 _‘This is just nerves,’_ Remus told himself sternly. _‘You’re fine.’_ He took in a deep breath. _‘This is just a bit of anxiety.’_ He held his breath and counted to seven. _‘You’re fine.’_ He exhaled and counted to eight. _‘It’s just new surroundings is all.’_ He inhaled and counted to four. _‘You’re fine.’_

He did it over and over and over again until he had calmed down. He thought about yesterday again, and this time, bits and pieces came stumbling over. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he realised how truly happy he was yesterday, and he remembered it – _Sirius_.

Of course, the phone had been from him. The room too he suspected was Sirius’ doing – all these trips. It was all Sirius’ doing ever since Remus told him how he longed to leave his hometown – like some repressed Victorian maiden. Of course. This had Sirius written all over it. Immediately, Remus knew he couldn’t afford to keep the phone – he didn’t have a single quid to spare for the data. Even if the phone was fully paid upfront and not on a monthly contract, and he could maybe survive using free public Wi-Fi, he knew he couldn’t possibly accept something like this.

What could he possibly give Sirius in return, that was even worth a tenth of this generosity?

Guilt for another would be eating him alive, but he knew it would be easier to just keep it for a couple more weeks – Sirius could be very difficult to argue with when he wanted to. Not conniving, god no, just difficult. Sirius did say it was a loan. So, Remus let himself dream and hold onto this picture-perfect life and he would return the phone to Sirius before he went back to school and anyway this was just for the summer – the love, the phone, the trip. They were giddy, and reckless because it was summer. _It’s fine_.

Remus almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around to see Sirius behind him, sitting on his knees, looking very worried. Remus smiled at the sight of him, there was a flutter in his heart that he couldn’t explain but his guts were dancing too. So, he smiled and smiled.

“All right?” Sirius asked him, finally breaking the silence.

“Hey, love.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Just enjoying the view. ‘S lovely.”

“Right. Cold though.”

“A bit, yeah. C’mere. Have a gander,” Remus said, gesturing grandly like a proud showman and patting the floor next to him; smiling like anything.

The way Sirius looked underneath the moonlight was an otherworldly vision. His almond skin was almost gleaming in the dark of the room, his grey eyes deeper, darker. His cheekbones looked sharper too, and the moonlight was dancing in his hair. He reminded Remus of the legend of Eros – of how the Roman god would change his look to the vision of someone’s idea of beauty so others would fall in love with him. It felt quite just that.

Sirius budged up a bit, closer to him, but his eyes never left Remus’. Sirius hadn’t looked as worried as before but he wasn’t smiling either. It was unsettling. Remus didn’t like that. But then, Sirius laced his fingers though Remus’, brought his knuckle to his mouth to kiss it, and he rested his head on Remus’ shoulder, leaning so close to him that Remus forgot what he was supposed to be worried about. Remus basked in the warmth of Sirius’ body on his bare skin.

Together, they watched the moon and the star dance above the Atlantic, with the wind and the waves as their witnesses.

After a bit, Sirius broke the silence.

“Re?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d tell me if something’s going on, right?”

Remus considered this and thought, _‘What?’_

“What?” Remus eloquently asked.

“It’s just – ” Sirius muttered, there was hesitation in his voice.

“Go on, love.”

“You screamed in your sleep. I tried waking you up, but you just kept screaming.”

 _‘Right. That,’_ Remus thought. That probably raised some questions.

“It’s fine, Sirius. I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Well, I bloody well don’t think so, Re. You were screaming bloody murder.”

“D’you know if I’ve taken my meds tonight? It’s supposed to help a bit with the nightmares – which was all it was really,” Remus asked in lieu of responding. He was good at that – deflecting.

“I don’t think so. You were pretty knackered when we got here. You changed and then you went to bed,” Sirius frowned, trying to recall.

“That was it probably. Hold on will you,” Remus said, as he kissed Sirius’ forehead before he got up to rummage around for his backpack. He found his meds, popped two out of the blister pack and swallowed the purple pills down hurriedly. He grimaced a bit at the dodgy smell, but he didn’t mind it much this time – he got something better to do. When he was done, Remus quickly packed the blister pack away again, and tucked in the purple box deep in his backpack.

Remus plonked down next to Sirius, and immediately pulled him into his lap and kissed him softly on the lips. He was in a bit of a hurry, the pills would make him sleepy soon enough.

“Re, wait,” Sirius said as he pulled back a little after the kiss. His left hand was on Remus’ bare shoulder and his right hand was on Remus’ thigh and Remus was finding it very hard to wait or otherwise.

“Unh?” Remus asked, the very opposite of eloquence.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes. Jesus _bleeding_ Christ, I’m alright. In fact, I can show you how alright I am if you let me kiss you.”

“Mer- Fuck. I just don’t want to bodge this. I really like you, Re.”

Remus thought about it – _‘Mermaid? Merlot? Merciful lord?’ And then, ‘HE LIKES ME?????!!!!!!!’_

“Fuck, you can’t just say summat like that and not let me kiss you.”

“I want to kiss you too, Re, promise. I just want to make sure you’re really fine.”

“I’m _fine,_ love. S’matter of fact, I’m the finest bloke this side of the Atlantic.”

“Oh, bit cocky, are we?”

“I’ll show you cock–”

To Remus’ amusement, Sirius let out a guffawing laughter at his pathetic pun and snorted unattractively – spittle flying out and everything. He didn’t know of course that puns were a thing of Sirius’. Still, Remus felt like he was watching a director’s cut of something private and surprisingly _his_.

“You really are the worst,” Sirius said in between the laughter, and he pulled Remus in for a searing hot kiss.

It was all tongue and heat and Remus felt like he could pass out but he tried to remember the 7-8-4 his psychiatrist taught him. When he had sorted out his priorities, he pressed his body against Sirius and they nearly tumbled over backwards, but he caught Sirius by the small of his back, anchoring him. Remus then used his other hand to steady them both, he could feel Sirius smiling against the kiss now but he didn’t let go –

Remus lowered him on the floor, his knees on both sides of Sirius’ waist, and used his right hand to pin Sirius’ wrists above his head. Remus continued to kiss Sirius deeply until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore and went up for air. Remus gave him a small peck on the lips before he leaned back. Sirius started whining immediately and Remus was so endeared but he couldn’t help himself – he just wanted to see this – this version of Sirius, in his arms.

Sirius looked utterly and properly debauched. His long black hair was tousled, in soft waves around his head like an underwater halo – fitting for an angel, his lips were red, red, and slightly swollen. His cheeks were flushed pink and there were slight buds of perspiration on his cupid bow. His chest rose and fell hurriedly, his breath fast and sharp and loud.

For the first time in his life, Remus entertained the idea of being alive and awake – if it could mean _this_ , having Sirius in his arms.

“Lovely,” Remus said, as he tilted his head down to press a soft kiss on Sirius’ cheek. “Beautiful,” he said, as he kissed the other. “Lush,” he breathed against Sirius’ lips. “Bloody spectacular,” another kiss against Sirius’ jaw. “Proper fucking stunner,” he whispered in Sirius’ ear as he trailed open wet kisses all the way down to his collarbone, “Brilliant,” he said at Sirius’ jugular notch – and then, he used his left hand to tilt Sirius’ jaw up and kiss him on the lips deeply, and unhurriedly.

He did it over and over again, until Sirius gasped, panted and begged beneath him.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he took off Sirius’ shirt, and planted kisses all the way down Sirius’ body, marking him with his teeth and tongue gently, and unhurriedly, as if he had all the time in the world to undo the gasping mess of a boy in his arms. Using just the barest hint of touch, and the tips of his fingers, Remus ran a finger from the top of Sirius’ chest, all the way to his hip, deliberately brushing it against Sirius’ nipples on the way down. His fingers ghosted above the erect nipples, and the darker surrounding skin over and over as Sirius' breath became more and more audible. He did it again, and again.

He teased him further, blowing air on the sensitive skin, instead of touching it, ignoring Sirius’ begging and Sirius’ hands that were now grabbing at his upper arms painfully. Smiling to himself, he traced them with his tongue painstakingly slow. Sirius spluttered and let out a string of curses. Remus counted up to twenty curses before he gave in, and sucking the nipples – licking and biting and scratching and taking them in his teeth just to be a menace and because he could.

“Re, please. I need – I just – I want to –” and Sirius let out a guttural moan so loud, when Remus brushed his groin against his that Remus shivered from the second-hand pleasure.

“Use your words, _cariad bach_ ,” Remus whispered in Sirius’ ear, trying desperately to not cum himself, as he shamelessly dragged his free hand against Sirius’ upper thigh, so close to his dick that Sirius’ bucked up against him.

“Re, I need – oh, _merde_ – oh bleeding dragons’ snot – _Re, please– oh –_ ”

“Go on, _cariad_ , tell me,” as he dipped a finger down the front of Sirius’ pants, pulling it down just a smidge, and letting his knuckles brush back and forth against Sirius’ hip bones.

“Please, please Re, I need you in me, _please_ ,” Sirius said hurriedly, stumbling over his words.

Without preamble, Remus got to his knees, and picked Sirius up by his waist, and hoisted him over his shoulder as he got up, and carried Sirius to their bed and unceremoniously threw him on it. Remus took off his pajamas and pants, got in the bed and tugged Sirius pants down with his teeth – deliberately letting his teeth skate over Sirius’ bits and Sirius responded grandly – hips bucking erratically, and his body flushed red and taut. He was looking at Remus with his pupils blown so wide that his grey eyes looked like the full moon itself, and then he said in his sultry, velvety voice of his, _‘Come on then.’_

Well, Sirius did _ask._

Remus nudged Sirius’ leg open, and kneeled right there in between them – he lifted one of Sirius’ legs and put it over his shoulder and rested his hand on the other leg's thigh. Fingers dangerously close to where Sirius wanted him to touch, but not quite. He looked at Sirius, who was toying with his bottom lip and hands in his own hair, pulling it. Remus wanted to give him another chance to say no, to flee, but Sirius nodded at him.

He leaned down, and he licked his lips as he finally let himself have a proper look. Like everything else about him, Sirius’ was lush. It laid heavy against Sirius’ stomach. Taut and hard – pink and already leaking wet. Remus swallowed at the sight of it, very nearly drooling at the thought of having it in his mouth, thick and heavy on his tongue, tasting the beautiful blue veins on his lips.

He was so hard himself it was verging on painful – but, this wasn’t what Sirius had asked. So, he would have to come back to that.

Instead, he went to town on Sirius’ arse, not even bothering to pry the cheeks apart with his hands – he simply nudged Sirius’ other leg on his shoulder higher for better access – leaving Sirius dangling almost precariously – before Remus anchored him down, spreading his fingers on Sirius’ other thigh and pressing down hard. He swathed his tongue flat against the hole, and Sirius bucked against him erratically, with his mouth spitting and cursing in French, but Remus only held him down harder, basking in the warmth of Sirius’ skin and the singing lust in his veins – and Sirius responded by grabbing and pulling at Remus’ hair.

Sirius’ grip on his hair became more possessive and intense, as Remus teased, and licked and bit. He pushed his tongue in and Sirius’ grip turned to his shoulder, sharp fingernails against his back and he relished in the sweet pleasure of pain, and he quickened his pace – darting his tongue in and out – wanting to add his fingers into the mix but not without lube.

So, he stopped and Sirius swore at him.

“ _Cariad_ , I’m not doing this to you without lube. I’m clean I know, I’ve checked and I haven’t since done anything since –”

Sirius gave him the most indignant look, and pushed Remus off him and got up. Somehow, Sirius managed to look posh and dignified like he was walking down Westminster Abbey for his own coronation instead of huffing and walking to the hotel’s bathroom with his hard dick sticking out in front of him like a red rod. He came back two seconds later with packets of lube in his hands. He then stood next to the bed in front of Remus, not breaking eye contact, tore a couple of the packaging open at once, poured the lube all over his fingers, toss the wrappers over his shoulder before he lifted one of his legs up to rest on the bed, and started to finger fuck himself – fast and hard as Remus watched, his jaw on the floor.

One finger, and then another, and then another.

With shallow breath, and those wrecked voice – Sirius said, no, _demanded_ ,

“Will you fuck me now, Re, because I swear – ”

Remus never did found out what Sirius was threatening him with because thankfully, his brain still worked even after that particularly lewd, and erotic display. He pulled Sirius by the waist and shoved him bodily on the mattress and spread his legs wide with hands and pushed his dick into Sirius’ tight pink hole, all the way in, in one fluid motion as Sirius spluttered underneath him, trying to keep up.

Just as Sirius began to find his footing, he grabbed a pillow and lifted Sirius’ bum to place it underneath him and moved. Remus’ hips snapped fast, and sure as Sirius turned into a blundering mess – that Remus knew he had hit Sirius’ prostate. Underneath him, Sirius was grasping at Remus’ back and his mouth busy finding purchase anywhere on Remus’ skin. Remus took pity on him and brushed his fingers along Sirius’ lower lip and immediately Sirius made a grab for it, and started to suck on Remus’ fingers like his life depended on it.

And fuck, Sirius had looked so hot with Remus’ fingers in his mouth. Unable to stand the sight of it, Remus leaned down and started to kiss Sirius anywhere he could reach in between panting. It was erratic, and messy, but it was deliciously brilliant.

Remus, who had felt like he had been thrown off the edge since he woke up that dawn, was now trying to blink at the luminous sparkling light that shone beneath him – his own supernova, who had abandoned his station. His own fallen star that had graced him with warmth, comfort, and safety. He rode that high hard, and certain as his own astronomical wonder exploded beneath him.

“Re, unh, I’m – I –” Sirius spluttered, barely coherent underneath Remus.

“Come for me, _cariad_. I got you,” Remus said, as he punctuated each word with a sharp, hard snap of his hip, that Remus knew would definitely bruise in the morning. He kissed Sirius desperately then, overwhelmed by his senses, drowned in his Sirius wonderful scent of sweat, and musk, and something like roses and vanilla.

He gave in finally, and reached between them to wrap Sirius’s cock around his fist, and started pumping it hard. His movement was so erratic – he was sure there was almost no right and rhythm to it but it must’ve been something good because Sirius began to pant and moan so hard against Remus’ throat, his hands frantically touching and grabbing without a destination, and he was shaking. Sirius couldn’t even keep his eyes open anymore, it was too intense – his mouth had fallen permanently open, and Remus was drunk on the sight of him.

“Re– Re, please.”

“Come on then, _cariad_. Let go,” he whispered in between kisses on Sirius’ lips, so, so far off the edge himself. He came then, his whole body was trembling with pure pleasure, and he let out a long moan at the release, filling Sirius up with his warmth.

Sirius came undone then, right after, loud and messy, all over himself.

Remus collapsed on top of Sirius. He shut his eyes and Remus made a resolve that he wouldn’t wake up until at least noon. He didn’t care that he was sleeping on the sticky mess on Sirius’ tummy, with his bits still in Sirius’ arse.

Instead, he rested his head on the crook of Sirius’ shoulder and inhaled the beautiful assault of smell and the chaos of them – his, on Sirius’, everywhere he could taste and touch. His fingers were resting on Sirius' pulse, right on the side of his neck. He could feel the blood pumping and beating against his fingertips, steady and a fixed point of consistency in his erratic universe.

Sirius apparently didn’t care either – a man after his own heart. His soft hands caressed Remus’ hair and then all the way down to his back. He started whispering sweet nonsense in Remus’ ears but Remus hadn’t had the energy to even try to understand. He must’ve fallen asleep some time after because Sirius was shaking him awake.

“Re? Are you asleep?”

“No, _cariad_ , down south we call this skydiving.”

“You’d think sex would make you less – _arsey._ ”

“Oy, watch who you’re calling arsey, eh? This is the Cornish charm that you have fallen for. You posho Londoners wouldn’t know it if you have it up your arse.”

“Cheeky.”

“ _Cariad_ , if you don’t let me sleep after I fuck you I don’t think this is going to work between us, no matter how beautiful you look when you come.”

“You’re awfully chatty for someone who’s supposed to be asleep.”

“Ha.”

“Will you just budge over, please, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Nope.”

“Re, _pleaseee._ ”

“Oh, all right.”

Sirius gave him a light peck on his forehead after he’d pulled out and rolled over to lay on his back, and snuggled closer to Remus and started spitting some French shite in his ear. Alright, maybe Sirius had whispered instead, but Remus was so bleeding tired. Honestly, why was Sirius so chipper when it was arse bloody o’clock in the morning.

_“Re, tu es beau. Je suis fou de toi. Tu es mon vie, mon cœur, mon amour. Vous êtes ma seule raison d'être.”_

“No. Absolutely fucking not. Press one for English please.”

_“Quoi?”_

“Nope,” Remus said determinedly and he rolled over to his side, grabbing blindly for the duvet, and then pulling Sirius into his arms – who was giggling, _giggling!_ against his chest. _‘This is some fairytale shite,’_ Remus thought, and he made a half hearted attempt to clean the mess on Sirius' chest using a pair of pants that he unearthed with the duvet. 

Soon after, he felt Sirius’ fingers and lips wandering and exploring his skin, and he pressed kisses in the vague general direction of Sirius, very nearly asleep, until he felt a sudden plunging warmth of pleasure on his groin and around his cock – _oh_. Remus struggled to keep his eye open and he saw the top of Sirius’ head in between his legs – half-draped with their duvet.

“Cariad?” Remus asked in a raspy, completely debauched voice to the bobbing head down there.

Sirius looked up, and he was a vision of beauty – his head was tangles of silken black hair, his pupils were blown wide, cheeks hollowed, and his lips – his wet, soft, rosy lips were sinful around Remus’ dick. He tilted his head slightly questioningly at Remus – who couldn’t find the words to respond as he was too busy gaping.

Sirius shrugged, locking his eyes with Remus and continued to fuck his mouth with Remus’ now –achingly hard cock.

Remus was racking his brain hard – he couldn’t just sit there and take it. So, he ran his fingers through Sirius’ hair and caressed his sharp jaw and protruding cheekbones. Sirius purred against his cock, pleased, and the vibration felt fucking incredible, and Remus bit his lips to stop himself from saying something stupid.

Sensing Remus’ stupidity, Sirius gave him an incredulous look before sucking Remus’ cock with a renounced vigour – clearly wanting Remus to unravel. Sirius then made an obscene show of moaning loudly, deep throating him, alternating between licking the shaft, swirling his tongue around the head, and delicately scrapping that sensitive little ridge of skin on the underside of Remus’ penis. At that, Remus started bucking his hips wildly into Sirius’ mouth and the little fucker had the audacity to smirk. Remus watched as Sirius moved and positioned his own hard dick on Remus’ thigh and started to grind in tangent to the movement of his mouth. Remus groaned loudly, in unadulterated pleasure – unabashedly and started to moan.

Sirius moved his hands then – and he found Remus’ perineum and Sirius pressed against it without warning and Remus came, gaping and spluttering.

Sirius looked completely chuffed as he sat there, swallowing every last bit of Remus’. He let go of Remus’ spent dick, moved to sit up on his knees, eyes looking deep into Remus’, chest puffed out, gave his own dick a couple of pumps and he came on his hands.

That night – or whatever that was left of it, as Sirius slept soundly in Remus’ arms, Remus had a wonderful dream of a shooting star, who had come from a galaxy that was so far away from his world that it took him ages to get there. He then apologised profusely to Remus for taking so long, and gave Remus the Duchenne smile, and explained that he was there to bring Remus home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by Fleetwood Mac
> 
> Poem is “Snow and Dirty Rain” by Richard Siken
> 
> ***
>
>> Translation
>> 
>> Re, tu es beau. Je suis fou de toi. Tu es mon vie, mon cœur, mon amour. Vous êtes ma seule raison d'être. - Re, you are beautiful. I am crazy about you. You are my life, my heart, my love. You are my only reason for existing.
>> 
>> Quoi? - What?
>> 
>> Cariad - darling/love/sweetheart
> 
> __
> 
> _(Mind, my French is absolute shite, the last I've used it was when I was in school. Please point out any and all bastardisation of the language. The Welsh, I garnered from websites/ Google Translate. English too you know, none of them are my first language)._


	8. Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Omelette station' lady, Pentire Headland, and blood red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Abuse
> 
> Towards the end of this chapter, there are mentions of abuse. Please skip it if it is triggering to you. It is from _**As they sat ...**_ to _**... it made his Mother feel disgusted.**_
> 
> Also, there's mention of mental illness (bipolar) and self-harm. It is from _**“I have bipolar ..."**_ to _**... Remus laughed darkly**_
> 
> Take care lovelies x

He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;  
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

☆

When the sunlight had started to break through the dark cloudy sky over the Atlantic that morning, Sirius was already awake. If he was being honest, he hadn’t slept much anyway. He was too on edge – feeling like an impostor – a stupidly happy boy sleeping next to someone he loved and waking up in their arms. No, that kind of life would never belong to him.

He never wanted to wake up from this dream. This beautiful dream of having someone who meant so much to him return his love and affection – that was something that even his wildest fever dream couldn’t concoct. But here he was anyway, feeling soft, happy, and content in Remus’ arms and having all those eclipsed by sheer guilt and feeling like a fraud.

Hadn’t he tricked his way here? Had he not sent Remus sprawling on his feet, fucked with his mind, waterboarded his consciousness by bringing him along on a _Side-Along Apparition_ to his bleeding flat that was hundreds of miles away? Had he not lied to him repeatedly? Had he not lied to him about the mobile? About the restaurant?

At this point, he didn’t think that the Ministry for Magic would hesitate in handing over his idiotic arse to the International Confederation of Wizards. Who was to say that he deserved even a stardust of Remus’ affection and trust in him when he had been acting in the interest of his personal gain from the very start?

Sirius sighed longingly into Remus' chest, and he felt his eyes starting to well up in tears. He hurriedly blinked them away, feeling angry and frustrated in himself. He’d mucked this up spectacularly.

Granted, how was he to know that Remus was not just another in the long list of people he messed around with? He knew exactly what James would’ve said, something he had said before so many times that it was a permanent fixture in his brain. Not that it ever got through to him before.

> _“If you’d use your brain, and not your dick to think, Pads, just once maybe we can walk down the corridor without dodging hexes from your suitors every few feet,” James said while trying to untangle himself from a particularly big and nasty spider web underneath a rumbling archway._
> 
> _They were trying to get to Transfiguration but Sirius saw Elladora Abbott as they were rounding up the courtyard looking murderous and he **did** ditch her in the Astronomy Tower last night. Which was how they found themselves in the secret passageway behind the golden sphynx tapestry._
> 
> _In his defence, he forgot about his other detention with Slughorn. Minnie would definitely have their arses in detention every weekend for a month if they were late again, thus the shortcut._
> 
> _“Where would the fun be in that, Jamie? Plus, we wouldn’t discover half the hidden passageway that way,” Sirius had said then, unbothered, using a non-verbal Evanesco to lazily vanish the cobwebs with a flick of his wrist._
> 
> _“Show-off,” James said and scoffed at him._
> 
> _“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Sirius threw up two fingers at him, smirking._

He was rather good at that – wordless, wandless magic. He had realised very early on that he hadn’t the need to struggle with his magic like the others, who had to call it up and channel it with their wands. Magic was always there beneath his fingertips, running wild and ready to combust.

Perhaps it was the undiluted centuries of pure magic running through his veins. James had said it was the inbreeding – the wanker.

Right. That was that then. Spilt potion and all that.

Sirius opened his eyes and watched as the sunrise made a show of highlighting every feature of Remus that he adored. He drank the sight of him greedily, knowing full well that the sand of time was racing against him. Remus’ eyelashes were long and dark against his pale cheek, skin soft and a bit pale, saving for his full crimson lips. Sirius noticed the scars again, and saw them everywhere now, criss cross of pale silver and tinge of pink – appearing when you looked hard enough.

Remus, as always, looked young when he was asleep; whole and unbroken, and serene and Sirius desperately wanted to bottle him up, put him in his pocket, and stopper time to shelter him from the cruel, unkind world. Which he probably could, being a wizard and half dark on his blood family side and all. Instead, he pressed a chaste kiss on Remus’ cheek, swathed him in their duvet and waddled out of the bed – to shower and wander about outside to look for tea. Anything, something to calm him down.

He then discovered that muggles’ inns – _hotels_ they were called, served feasts – _buffets_ that rivalled Hogwarts’ finest in the morning. There were long rows of tables lined with crisp white linen filled to the brim with food in silver trays with delicate carved legs.

Sirius watched as the few other patrons, an old couple, a family with three young children – _maybe he had booked the hotel full too, so chain him up for a full Wizengamot trial, he couldn’t care less_ – piled up their plates with dishes that Sirius could half recognise.

The kind old lady manning the ‘omelette station’ – the card had read – had been generous to him in answering his onslaught of questions. He asked if he could pay to have food sent up later – _‘my love is sleeping in, feeling unwell, only having taken their medication,’_ remembering that at Hogwarts accidentally taking even cutlery from the Great Hall would mean a whole week of detention with Filch.

She beamed at him, and told him _‘what a thoughtful young man you are, very well-mannered and polite'_ and _'no, you don’t need to pay for room service’_ – whatever it was, _‘and yes, we can send up a tray, darling. Tea, with a bit of everything – and is there a particular request?’_

 _‘Scones. He is very fond of scones, with extra jam and cream,’_ Sirius replied, cringing inwards a bit at the slip of pronoun, uncertain if it would be received well.

But the old lady had only smiled warmly at him, promising _‘I’ll make sure that there will be scones on the breakfast tray then, with extra jam and cream’._

Sirius had wanted to cry at her kindness. Instead, he smiled back, thanking her profusely, making a mental note to send her flowers before he left, and made his way to the tables with teas and coffees.

Was this what it would feel like – to live in a world as another? Just a bloke, going on a weekend trip with someone he dearly loved, chatting to someone about them freely – without judgement, and preconceived notions, and thousands of years of prejudice and expectations against him?

He sat on a table overlooking the ocean inside, next to a huge glass window watching the sun rise above the Atlantic. His mind was whirring at thousands of miles per hour, with yearning and regrets. He sipped on his tea, moving the homemade biscuits he had grabbed at random around his plate, when a plate of a fluffy steaming omelette was set on his table. He was half certain that he hadn’t asked for an omelette.

Looking up, he saw that old kind lady again – Vyvyan, her name tag read, smiling at him, a dimple deepening in her right cheek.

“Alright, love?” she said to him.

“All right, just a bit … overwhelmed,” Sirius replied before he could stop himself.

“You really love him, don’t you?”

“I do – he definitely deserves better though, because I can’t do anything to help him,” Sirius said, because, might as well.

“Love, the way I see it, you’re enough.”

“Right.”

“Listen here petal, sometimes, we have this grand idea in our heads of how love should be, when love could be _anything_ – even bringing them a cuppa, or making sure they eat. Let love exists, in its own limitations; and that would have to be enough because lord knows otherwise, what would we have left?

“You’re more than enough petal, and you have to make your peace with that,” Vyvyan said fiercely, but kindly, and truly she was quite a fearsome thing to behold. She reminded Sirius so much of Effie.

Sirius didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t find the words. So he just nodded.

“Right. I have an omelette station to go back to. Eat up now,” she said, giving him a warm smile before leaving him to his own thoughts.

He did.

The rest of the morning was a clusterfuck of jumbled emotion. It was a quarter to ten now, and he was wandering about the rows of shops in the town. He had walked to the Pentire Headland again this morning wanting to clear his head, trying to immerse himself in the sight instead of being stuck in the cage of helplessness in his head.

Sirius watched the sky, and the waves, and hills and land and he couldn’t help to wonder what the sight in front of him would be like through Remus’ artistic brilliance.

Dared he ask?

There was a different bloke manning the front desk of the hotel when Sirius got back. The bloke looked down on him – messy windswept hair, sleep deprived face, and his dishevelled black shirt – when he asked for the direction to the nearest art shop. The bloke hadn’t even had the decency to be nice to him. He scoffed and replied nastily that the lobby area was for the hotel’s guests only and not an information counter. Sirius was a man on a mission and he had very little patience to spare. Sirius nearly leaped over the front desk to reach for the bloke’s head and bash his head through the wood before remembering that Remus would probably be upset when Sirius was whisked away by muggle aurors.

Instead, Sirius calmly explained that, _‘yes, he’s a hotel guest’_ , and showed the dickwad his hotel key card. The bloke shot him another appraising look, and had the audacity to tell him that the checkout time was soon instead of telling Sirius the answer to his question.

At that, Sirius threw his debit card on the desk, which he guessed had the same impact of throwing a money bag of fat golden galleons in the muggle world, and it was equally satisfying. He then told the bloke – Kenwyn, that _‘I’ve now decided that I’d book another night for all my rooms’_ and to _‘charge it all to the card,’_ just out of spite.

Honestly, Sirius was only a man.

Kenwyn paled when he read the name on the card and his demeanour changed completely, calling Sirius ‘sir’, apologising and harassing him with an onslaught of _‘anything else I could help you with, Sir?’_ and _‘Happy to help with anything!’_ and nearly tumbled over himself fetching a map of the area from the internet and marking down every art supply shop in the fifty miles’ radius of that area.

He even walked Sirius out to the parking lot, wishing him a safe ride and everything, the sodding kiss-arse.

As it turned out, there were not a lot of art supply shops nearby. There was only a small bookstore, and a charity shop that sold a mess of everything. He bought a bit of everything that he thought would be useful, a couple of packs of cold pressed paper that the bookstore owner had suggested, some brushes, and because he didn’t know which type of paint Remus would want to use that day – he bought a set of each; watercolour, acrylic, oil, and gauche. Hoping that one of them might be useful.

It was almost noon when he returned to their room, and Remus was in the shower. There was a tray of half eaten breakfast food on their bed and Sirius was glad that at least he had gotten something right today.

The bathroom door creaked open and Remus’ wet head and torso appeared. He frowned at Sirius.

“Sirius?”

“Hey, love.”

“You were gone.”

“Sorry, yeah, just for a walk.”

“Oh. Alright. Want to join me?”

Sirius grinned at him, tossed his shopping on the floor and all but ran into Remus’ arms. He nearly toppled the both of them over to the wet floor but Remus caught him in his arms and kissed him, wet and gaudy and passionate, grinning through the kiss. Remus helped Sirius remove all of his clothes before they snogged and touched each other fervently under the warmth of the shower rain until the skin of their fingers became pruney, doing anything but showering.

Afterwards, freshly (not even) showered and dressed, they walked to the Pentire Head. Remus beamed at him, eyes sparkling, all obvious and thrilled when Sirius showed him the hoard of paints, papers, and brushes he had bought and asked him if he wanted to go down the coast and paint.

Or in his own words, _‘Well, you paint and I’ll stand guard to defend your honour against every rat, sky or otherwise that dared to bother you. Maybe feed you chips too,’_ he said, while shadow boxing a couple of imaginary sky rats.

Remus kissed him full on the mouth and called him an idiot.

Later, as they walked hand in hand to the coast, Sirius made a show of shooing and muttering curses at sea gulls that flew up above them, and Remus barked a loud laughter at him, joyfully, and a bit teasingly. Sirius laughed too, happily at the sight of cheery Remus. It reminded Sirius of something that he realised not too long ago, somewhere like this, the sea, the sun, and his Remus – that he’d do anything to make Remus happy – to hear him laugh his genuine, contagious laughter.

They settled by a spot near the coastal cliff, with seas of green grass around them. Sirius watched as Remus painted. Alternately feeding him bits of food that he bought from the hotel restaurant and occasionally pissing him off by speaking in French, because he couldn’t help himself. Remus looked far too cute when he was faking being mad at Sirius – eyes crinkling with mischief, and the corner of his mouth upturned as he told Sirius to _‘Shut up and let me paint in peace, cariad. An artist is at work here.’_

Also, the onslaught in French was because Sirius got to confess everything that he wanted – his feelings, his fears, with Remus listening but not understanding. You know, like the coward he was.

Remus gave as good as he got. Telling Sirius _‘paidâmalu cachu’_ and _‘stopo siarad trwy ei dîn’_ and _‘stopo fy cariad bach’_. Sirius had privately speculated that Remus didn’t really expect Sirius to stop now, did he, when he himself looked that hot and sexy speaking Welsh.

At one point, Sirius had exhausted his extensive list of pet names and ran his confessions to the ground. He was sprawling on the grass, with his head resting in Remus’ lap, eyes shut and not caring that he was being a menace. He was rattling off from the _‘Imparfait’_ section of the _‘Table de Conjugasion’_ when Remus finally put his brush down.

Sirius had been listing all the French verb conjugations straight out of the memory of his childhood of sitting prim and proper for seven hours every day, getting his knuckles whacked with a metal ruler by his governess even for the slightest mistakes.

“ _Cariad?_ ” Remus said softly.

“Hm?”

“Are you done?” Remus asked.

“Are _you_ done?” Sirius answered testily because he wasn’t done being difficult.

“Yes, actually.”

Sirius opened his eyes to see Remus smiling down at him. It was disconcerting, because it made Sirius wonder about if he’d one day be waking up in heaven to an angel in his face, when he was so certain that he was destined for hell.

Sirius cleared his throat and squinted up, honestly the sheer audacity of Remus to look this good, this close to him – taking him unaware.

“ _Cariad?_ ” Remus called his name again, even softer this time.

Sirius was ready to throw hands with deity he didn’t really believe then, because what the fuck.

“ _Putain. Quoi?_ ” he returned in a wrecked voice that surely wasn’t his.

“Alright?”

“All right, yes,” Sirius said, still a smidge testily.

“Do you want to see it? Or do you want to keep being an arse?” Remus asked with a smile playing on his lips.

Merlin _fucking_ Morgana.

Who gave him the right to look this beautiful, be this brilliant and witty, a fucking good lay, and a talented motherfucker who had the audacity to call Sirius on his shit. Did he really exist before or did he just jump out of Sirius’ wet dream?

Oh, Sirius was so turned on, and so, so in love right now.

Because he was a child, and thus acted accordingly, Sirius threw two fingers up at him. Remus simply laughed and caught his hand, and pulled it to his lips to kiss it. Not letting go now, he looked at Sirius with a soft, slightly concerned expression on his face and said, _‘Come on then.’_

Sirius huffed exaggeratedly, but he clasped hard at Remus’ arm to help him move and settled to sit up in Remus’ lap. He rested his back on Remus' chest, and let his head rest in the crook of Remus’ shoulder. He then wiggled his arse against Remus’ groin and smiled devilishly to himself when he heard Remus sucked in a sharp breath, because, maybe he wasn’t done being an arse.

Remus rested his right hand on Sirius’ thigh, caressing it absently and reached to his left for the painting.

It was magnificent. There were no other words for it.

Remus had painted the very essence of beauty of the sight in front of them and immortalised it with strokes of brush and paint. Remus had bought the waves, and the sky to life with his fingertips, like he was the architect of it; like he himself was present when the world was rolled out beneath heaven, and the earth was nothing but dust.

It was a labour of love and passion.

Immediately, Sirius felt guilty for acting like a tit all afternoon. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be a decent human being for once? He was quiet for such a long time that when Remus cleared his throat behind him, he jumped.

“ _Cariad?_ ”

“It’s beautiful, Re. Bloody brilliant.”

“Yeah?”

“Really. I’m just. I’m sorry for being a twat all afternoon.”

“No worries about it, love.”

“It’s just a bit too much sometimes, you know? All these, this place, you. It’s so surreal how happy I am, or how beautiful this place is or how brilliant you are, Re. I feel like it’s going to go up in smoke any moment. _Désolé, mon amour. Pardonne-moi,_ " Sirius said, and slipping back into French in the end as he always did when he felt nervy.

Remus cleared his throat and said, “Well, I know some of it.”

Sirius could feel his heart stopped beating. He turned around to look at Remus who was biting back a smile. _“Excusez-fucking-moi??”_

“ _Ça va._ You do know they taught French at schools, right?” Remus said casually.

Do you know how red lobsters turn into when they’re cooked? Well, that would be an understatement to how bad Sirius was blushing then. He spluttered and wheezed and he still couldn’t find a word.

His mental faculty had called it quits and _Avada Kedavra_ themselves when they realised the person they had to govern was a sodding blundering idiot. Sirius felt faint, and he was about to have a full on panic attack as Remus watched him bemusedly.

“ _Cariad_ , you alright?”

 _"Non, s'il te plait, non non non non non,”_ Sirius mumbled, bringing his hands up to his face and silently screamed.

Remus laughed and pulled Sirius even closer to his chest, and started to rock him back and forth and caressing his head lovingly, as he whispered _‘it’s okay’_ repeatedly to Sirius. It took him a while but finally Sirius had managed to calm himself down enough.

He extracted himself from Remus’ lap and sat beside him. Well, he had to get this over with sometimes.

_“Cariad?”_

_“Pourquoi ne m’as-tu pas dit?”_ he asked, and cringed when it came out sharp and accusatory. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t Remus’ fault, he was the assumptive idiot here.

“Well, I was in primary school then, and I was missing school too much to be any good at it. So, I dropped it. Although, now, I wish I had stuck with it,” Remus explained patiently with a slightly bemused smile.

_“Non.”_

“Yeah. So, I could understand a little bit, here and there. Especially when you said it slow enough. Could barely speak it. Definitely not enough to declare my undying love to someone.”

Sirius squinted at him. _Hmm._

“No damage done whatsoever, your secret is still safe.”

“Right. I’m still sorry that I acted like an arse though.”

 _“Ne t'en fais pas, mon amour,”_ Remus said with a cheeky smile, completely butchering the pronunciation.

Sirius cackled. Well, he might as well say it now. So, he told Remus everything the world didn’t know about him.

As they sat and watched the sunset at the Pentire Head, Sirius told Remus about the time he watched his Mother ~~told Kreacher to~~ upend a pot of boiling soup on the floor right on his brother’s feet when he had accidentally walked into the drawing room during a meeting. He told Remus about the days he spent locked up ~~in the dungeon~~ his room, eating and drinking nothing ~~because it took a lot to starve a wizard to death~~.

He showed Remus his scars from his mother bashing his fingers and head in with vases and china ~~and throwing him unforgivable curses~~ because he always used to stand up for his brother, and somehow that meant showing weaknesses on his part and it made his Mother feel disgusted.

He told Remus how he had believed her words – _‘Blacks don’t love, especially not filth like you.’_ He showed him how these – _these punishments_ were done at places where people couldn’t see because otherwise _that_ would bring shame to the family.

Remus’ soft fingers ran through the scalp of Sirius’ hair, and they touched the ridges of deformed skin and scars gently. He bought Sirius’ hands to his mouth, slowly kissing every single joint on his fingers, that if you stopped and examined them under a light, you’d notice instead of creases, they were scars.

Sirius felt like a weight he had been carrying all his life had been lifted from his chest. He had never told anyone any of this. James and Effie and Monty knew only the very little of what they had seen, but they had never pried and Sirius would never burden them with the horror of such pain. This time, it was different though, because he had seen that Remus had experienced pain and disappointment and abandonment at a scale so much bigger than his. He knew that they were just lost kids swapping stories. He knew Remus would understand, and not give him pity or say he was sorry or some other bullshit happy people would say.

Without saying anything, Remus rolled up the sleeves of his jumper back. Turning his hands up, he showed Sirius a criss cross of deep scars all along the inside of his arm. There were some of those faint pink and silver scars like the one on his face, and knuckles, but these were different. These are garish and angry and jaded. He had seen them before, but never up close. Never out in the open. He, of course, never said anything. Sirius was many things, but he wasn’t _stupid_.

“I have bipolar and I cut myself during my manic episodes. That’s what the pills are for,” Remus said.

“Bipolar?” Sirius asked. The word tasted bitter, far too real and tangible in his mouth when spoken out loud.

“I have manic episodes, memory loss, delusions and hallucinations.”

“What are they about?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I can’t remember much. I just know that I’d woken up having hurt myself. My mum can’t stand it,” Remus said, his eyes casted down, and fixed at a point in the grass between them.

Sirius took Remus’ arms in his hand and his thumb traced over the raised silvery mess of skin that was dented and rippled.

“How do you know you hurt yourself?”

Remus laughed darkly and without humour.

“Well, who else? My mum? There’s no one else around.”

“Yeah but look, what even leaves these kinds of scars? They look like ...” he trailed in the middle of his sentence, thinking better of it. Changing direction, Sirius asked again.

“What did you use?”

Remus was taken aback by his bluntness. Truth was, Remus didn’t know either. There was nothing around his house that matched these wounds. His mother had locked up all the kitchen knives and cutlery somewhere and blamed Remus for his inability to control himself and self-destruct. She told him it was a curse having him as a son – she couldn’t even live under the same roof as him without feeling unsafe and even use the kitchen in her own house!

He’d given up on the mystery long ago and he had been far too tired to care.

Instead of telling Sirius all these, Remus shrugged and mumbled a quiet _‘I don’t know.’_

Sirius contemplated over these facts and his mind was whirring around so fast that his reality almost looked disconcerting. There was something off about all of this. Something that didn’t tally up.

He knew that he didn’t know much about bipolar but there had been nothing in the books he read about people with bipolar disorder having manic episodes and hurting themselves and then forgetting about it. Self-harm and suicidal yes, but complete episodes of memory loss? _'Can delusions be that extensive?'_ He wondered. He didn’t pretend to be an expert, but there was something amiss. _'Was Remus misdiagnosed?'_ He had to check with Meda and ask.

“When did your last episode happen?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember,” Remus said, shrugging his shoulders and busying himself with packing up his art supplies.

And that was that. Sirius thought he’d well deserve a cigarette now, and he busied himself trying to light up the fag with a muggle lighter that he’d bought at a rest area when he went in to have a wee – knowing full well he couldn’t use even wandless magic now.

 _‘Shame that,’_ he thought, that was one trick to pull he couldn’t use with Remus anymore.

“Mind if I bum one?” he heard Remus ask. Sirius nodded tersely, holding out the cigarette case to Remus. He was still struggling with the lighter. The wind kept putting the flame off, and Sirius’ cursed loudly in his mind.

“Fuck!” Remus cried out in pain suddenly.

Sirius dropped his cigarette out of shock. He turned to look at Remus who was clutching his hand. He paled, when he saw that the palm of Remus’ hand had looked all red – blistered, swollen and bleeding.

Sirius swallowed loudly, thinking about how his silver cigarette case had burned Remus’s skin. There would be only one fucking explanation to this, and he tried to wrap his head around it, but he couldn’t. His sight had started to swim, and he blinked rapidly, trying to regain focus. Maybe this was another muggle thing that he didn’t know about, his mind countered. Never mind ~~the fucking scars~~ all that now, Remus needed his help.

They walked briskly back to their hotel. As soon as they arrived, Sirius demanded, to a very terrified and confused looking Kenwyn at the front desk that he phoned them a healer, before Remus interjected, glaring and frowning at Sirius and said a first-aid kit would be fine.

In their room, Sirius paced about unhelpfully as Remus ran his hand under the cold-water tap. Remus was still not looking at Sirius as he sat down on the floor, the box of first-aid supplies in front of him.

Sirius felt helpless, and so out of his depth. He watched Remus dab an ointment and then another on the burn, which had thankfully become slightly less swollen, and had stopped bleeding. Sirius reached his hands out to help Remus wrap a bandage around it, but Remus flinched. So, Sirius padded about the room quietly, packing their stuff up and carefully folding Remus' clothes because he knew that was important to him. He knew full well then that, whatever it was that they had was over – their escapade or weekend trip ~~or that bonding moment he precariously destroyed because of him panicking or his laughing happy Remus~~ , that was gone now. He also had to bring Remus home anyway. Remus had school the next day, might as well do it now.

When they arrived in front of Remus’ house, Remus got off without even saying goodbye and shut his front door with a loud bang.

Sirius watched helplessly as the only person that had known him for he was, the one person he would have given up everything for, and loved more than his entire existence walked away from him ~~and out of his life~~ , for some reason he couldn’t wrap his mind around. Tears streamed down his face. Not even bothering to wipe them away, he revved his motorcycle’s engine and sped away. As soon as he got somewhere deserted, he took out his wand to do a _Four-Point-Spell_ and flew.

His bike crash landed right in front of the perimeter of protective spells and he left it there. He half walked and half dragged himself the rest of the way. For the second time in his life, he fainted in front of the Potter residence’s doorstep. Only this time, it was their cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by David Bowie
> 
> Poem is “Funeral Blues” by W.H. Auden
> 
> p/s: I’m sorry loves, buckle up your seatbelts it’s a rough ride from here on. Let’s hold hands and stuff x
> 
> p/p/s: I do realise that the topic of physical and emotional abuse is not very easy to translate in writing, especially on how realistic it is. But, as someone who is a survivor of both, I think it is very important to note that abusers are vile. 
> 
> They enjoy the power and control it give them over the other person; and they do so love acting in a certain way in front of other people so that no one would believe the victims when they voice it out. It seemed extravagant to an extent, but that's the whole bloody point. 
> 
> As well, a lot of the harrowing things written here are very personal to me because I lived through them. I would appreciate it if these experiences would not be quartered and dissected and be represented somewhere else. 
> 
> It is not very far fetched after all, it seemed. 
> 
> ***
>
>>   
> Translation:
>> 
>> paidâmalu cachu - stop bullshitting
>> 
>> stopo siarad trwy ei dîn - stop (talking) through your arse
>> 
>> stopo fy cariad bach - stop little darling
>> 
>> Désolé, mon amour. Pardonne-moi - I'm sorry love. Forgive me.
>> 
>> Excusez-fucking-moi - Fucking excuse me?
>> 
>> Ça va - It's okay
>> 
>> Non, s'il te plait, non non non non non - No, please, no no no no no.
>> 
>> Pourquoi ne m’as-tu pas dit? - Why didn't you tell me?
>> 
>> Ne t'en fais pas, mon amour - No worries my love.


	9. Wilson (Expensive Mistake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sessile oaks groves, Haversacking foul, and a little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Abuse
> 
> There are mentions of abuse. It starts from _**“Do you know what that means?..."**_ to _**"...Exactly like what you did.”**_
> 
> Please take care of yourself lovelies and do not read it if you're not in the right headspace to do so x

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin  
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in  
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove  
Dance me to the end of love

Oh, let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone  
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon  
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of  
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on  
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long  
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above  
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born  
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn  
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn  
Dance me to the end of love

☆

“You can’t keep doing this to me, Pads.” James' voice rang in Sirius’ ears as he blinked into consciousness.

James was sitting next to him.

Sirius was in his own bed, in his own bedroom, in his parents’ house – the Potter’s cottage. He had a taste of his and Remus’, of things belonging to just them, _of them_ , for less than two days and already he was suffering from withdrawal.

For the first time in his life, he wished for someone other than James or the Potters. He wished for Remus.

Sirius blinked his bleary eyes at James wishing he would just fuck off, but not really, because what kind of person he would be if everyone he loved left him? Maybe that would be his villain origin story. He shuddered involuntarily.

“Oi,” James said, poking his sides, trying to get a reaction out of him.

“Fuck off,” Sirius replied croakily, swatting James’ hand away.

“So, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by you passing out or whatever: You can’t keep doing this to me, baby brother,” James went on casually, stroking Sirius's hair like they were eleven again, and Sirius’ Mother had sent him another cursed envelope or orchestrated another way to torture him.

James and him in Sirius’ bed, in their dorm. Skipping dinner and raiding the kitchen after bedtime under the cloak to avoid awkward questions. Enabling Sirius to eat his feelings through éclairs, croquembouche and delicate french desserts courtesy of the house elves who seemed to have a soft spot for Sirius. Or like they were already back at Hogwarts for their seventh year, walking to class and talking about their next prank. Or heading to the quidditch pitch, jabbering about the match, James ruffling his artfully mussed hair because he was James.

Anything, instead of this; instead of James sitting by Sirius’ bedside next to Sirius, who lay in it looking like death itself. Probably. With James trying very hard not to look like he was gone half mad with fear or sadness or something that Sirius couldn’t quite tell. It wasn’t like James, this. The pretending.

“What?” Sirius asked flatly, not because he loved being difficult for once. But he was tired, and irritated. Honestly, he couldn’t deal with James who was not himself. Not now.

“You can’t keep doing this to me, Pads,” James repeated, seemingly unbothered. Still playing with Sirius’ hair.

 _“Quel?”_ Sirius pressed on challengingly, because he had progressed to that breaking point in his day or night (he didn’t know which since the curtain was pulled closed and it was dark and honestly he didn’t care). Sirius was anxious and irritated. So, he reverted back to his first tongue.

James sighed and said, “Can’t keep fainting on my door steps like some Victorian lady, Pads.”

“ _Une fois._ Was _one time_ ,” Sirius spat, glaring at James because he had said ‘my’ instead of ‘our’. It touched a nerve. His parents, his family, his house, his _fucking_ doorstep. Of course. Of _fucking_ course. Despite everything that had been said, and done, everything that had happened, some things you couldn’t change. Blood, for starters. What part did Sirius play in all this? What did he have? Nothing.

“It's twice now. You know what they say, thrice it’ll be a habit,” James said in a sing-song voice that made Sirius want to strangle him.

Sirius looked at him squarely in the eyes. There was venom on his tongue now.

_“Merci beaucoup pour toutes ces aimables paroles. Désolé pour le dérangement.”_

James frowned at his sudden change in demeanour.

“What the fuck happened?” James demanded, voice equally dangerous. _‘Fucking finally,’_ Sirius thought.

_“Je besoin de ma moitié! J’ai besoin de lui! C'est un … Putain, y a pas moyen que ce soit vrai. Je le jure. Quoi foutre? Qu'est- ce que je fais? Non, c’est des conneries. Merde.”_

James squinted at him for a second and got up.

The bed felt harrowingly empty.

Immediately, Sirius wanted James back. He wanted James to climb under the duvet with him, and hug him until he was whole again. He wanted James to pick up all the shattered pieces and put him together again. He wanted James to hold him and tell him everything would be okay. He wanted everything to be the way it used to be.

But, before he managed to make a grab at James’s hand, James had walked away. James turned away from Sirius and made his way out of the bedroom in his long sure stride; but not before Sirius saw how sad he had looked.

James paused at the door frame, one hand leaning against it, still not looking at Sirius.

“I’ll be out back,” James said simply and he closed Sirius’ bedroom door softly.

Sirius cried himself to sleep, for he was very tired indeed – in a bed that felt far too large for him alone, in a room that wasn’t really his, in a house that wasn’t his family’s.

***

When Sirius woke up again, it was the afternoon.

The sun was streaming through the window. The curtains had been pulled open now, and there was a tray of food that wasn’t in a takeout container on his bedside table. A warm plate of butter chicken and naan, with a cold glass of mango lassi that had been charmed to keep at a certain temperature.

He left it untouched.

He didn’t know how long he had slept, and how much time had passed since he last saw Remus. He was miserable. He kept replaying the last thing he had said to Remus, the last time he had touched his Remus, the last time he had kissed Remus, the last time he had held Remus in his arms.

He kept thinking, _if_ he could go back.

Well, ‘what if’s’ were a dangerous game for a young wizard like him. Sirius knew he was just a thestral’s tail hair away from breaking into the Ministry of Magic himself and stealing time turners to go back and to just unfuck everything. But that would have meant being thrown into Azkaban, and what good would he be to Remus if he was imprisoned for life? He took a long shower instead, trying as best as he could to scrub the misery of the past couple of days off his skin. All he ended up doing was crying a little bit more.

What use was this love, his love to Remus, his love to anyone? Yearning and missing and what ifs, and nothing more. He padded out of the bathroom feeling worse, and put on the first thing he could reach from his wardrobe.

The cottage was quiet and empty. Sirius wandered about for a bit and saw no sign of James nor Lily. He made his way outside to ~~their~~ the Potter’s Cottage backyard and saw that James was zooming around on his broom, a few feet off the ground; practicing quaffle trick shots into a rubbish bin that was hovering mid-air. He couldn’t help but to smile a little at the familiar sight. It was his first one in days.

Of course, ‘backyard’ was putting it modestly. Sirius knew that the Potters owned at least 50 acres of the surrounding English countryside around them. No one would bother them here. There were large Sessile oaks, and tall native trees everywhere around them; all of them ancient and centuries old. The tallest ones were easily 40 metres tall.

Sirius knew of this because he had helped Effie drain the soil during last winter’s snow storm. They worked for hours, just the two of them; removing trees with damaged roots, clearing out waterlogged soil, and treating bark damage. James had always much preferred quidditch over gardening and Sirius wasn’t about to argue that he got to spend more time with his mum alone. It was hard work but it was worth it when the wild flowers of the trees bloomed in May. He learnt then that there was something deeply calming and pleasing in watching something that you love blossomed.

His mum Effie was terribly fond of the Sessile oaks because they attracted wildlife – squirrels and badgers and jays. The squirrels feasted on the acorns and the badgers and jays made home in the trees. Sirius couldn’t help but agree. She had told Sirius that, in the olden days, muggles believed that the oaks were sacred. Kings and holy men used to have ceremonies and practice rituals at the oak groves. It was a symbol of everlasting strength and timelessness to them. Lovers used to meet under oak trees, as mistletoes were very fond of the oaks. Legend has it that if you tie a knot under an oak tree, your marriage will last forever. Well, that certainly gave a young man ideas.

In the present, Sirius watched James for a couple of minutes, trying to organise his thoughts because he knew James would want to _talk about it_ and he had never found himself in a situation where he didn’t explicitly trust James with anything.

If what he thought was right then, well, he was fucked. Remus more so than him, of course. But, James. What would he say? More importantly: what would he do with that knowledge?

James noticed him loitering in the doorway soon enough. He took one look at Sirius and threw the quaffle at him. Sirius caught it easily with his left hand. He was on the Gryffindor quidditch team after all, and he wouldn’t have made it if he couldn’t handle a fucking quaffle. A lot of people thought they were rather clever with their nepotism comments when James – their Quidditch captain drafted him in.

There were a lot of taunts from the other houses too, fueled by his spurned ex-lovers. It lasted right up until his first match, Gryffindor vs Slytherin. That had effectively shut down all the comments – at least about how he got to play for Gryffindor. They won, of course, and Sirius had been using that for his Patronus memory.

It felt good proving himself; that he was more than his blood, or his name.

He wasn’t so sure about that now.

Sirius tossed the quaffle back to James, who sent it spinning and flying into the makeshift goal post using only the tail end of his broomstick. He raised an eyebrow at Sirius challengingly.

“Is that all you got, little brother?”

“Bring it on, Potter.”

Sirius grabbed his own broom out of the broom cupboard they had near a row of hawthorns and rowans on the far left of the backyard. He jumped on his broomstick and James wasted no time in throwing the quaffle back at him.

They tossed and kicked the quaffle back and forth; each trying to score and outflow each other. It was a glorious day for it. The sun was shining brightly for once and the beautiful English countryside stood witness to the bond between the two brothers. This was the summer they both had missed. The one on one quidditch match went on for a bit, until James surprisingly committed a Haversacking foul as he dunked the quaffle right into the bin with his hand. Sirius gaped at him as James flashed a wide grin at Sirius.

James hopped off his broom and went on to sit on the backdoor’s doorstep and took out a golden snitch with a semi-bent left wing out of his pocket and started to toy around with it. Letting it fly for a few feet before catching it just barely with the tips of his fingers without even getting up. _‘Sodding idiot,’_ Sirius thought fondly. James wasn’t even a Seeker.

Sirius hovered about for a bit before he got off the broomstick himself. He strode up to James and stopped a couple of feet away from him. He took on the sight of James in front of him, squared his shoulder and raised his jaw slightly. _‘Here we go,’_ he thought privately, steeling himself.

“The fuck was that?” Sirius demanded instead because, _honestly_. _What a travesty._

“A slam dunk.”

“A what?”

“It’s a muggle sport thing. It's brilliant. Lils showed them to me on the Video Tube thing. Bit like Quidditch. No brooms of course.”

“Right. What’s happened? Where’s she? Lilith?”

A displeased look passed on James’ face for a split second for the offending nickname as he decided to give Sirius a pass. Well, he must’ve looked that bad if James was letting that one go. Sirius rested the tail end of his broomstick on the ground and leaned against it as he waited for the inevitable.

“She left last night. Reckoned we need time to sort this out. Told me to look after you first,” James said charitably. But the implications were clear. There was no we in this. _James_ – he had to sort out this – _Sirius’ mess_. Again. Lily had left because of _Sirius’ mess_. There was no later. The summer vacation had officially ended. He ruined it for the lovebirds. Well, that did set his teeth right on edge.

“I don’t need looking after. I’m not a child,” Sirius reiterated the old adage, almost snarling at him.

“Right," James said, ignoring that old rotten excuse. "You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” he continued, almost menacingly.

Sirius considered this. _Il faut qu'une porte soit ouverte ou fermée._ He didn’t think that he could have it both ways. He didn’t think that he could keep both of them in his life. That would be too bloody fortunate for his blood. But he didn’t say it out loud. He bit his tongue. He needed to be brave and bold and whatever the fuck else that Gryffindors were supposed to be now, for Remus, for them.

He took a deep breath and all the things that had been drilled inside his skull conflicted in him like _‘de qui je me fie dieu me garde’_ and even considered, _‘le meilleur n'en vaut rien’_ for a moment; and lastly, _fuck it_.

Sirius swallowed thickly and looked at James straight in his brown eyes that reminded Sirius so much of their mum and said in barely a whisper; that in the peaceful, wide open English countryside sounded like thunder.

“He’s a werewolf.”

James looked at him warily, and the snitch that was almost in his grasp escaped. James let it slip through his fingers and it flew merrily away. Instead of catching it, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. The vein in James’ left temple had made an appearance. There was tightness in his eyes and his shaky hands clenched into his fists. His voice was quivering with anger when he finally spoke.

“This was it then? What you’ve been doing? What all the crying, and sneaking around had been about? _You_ , fucking a werewolf. Was Remus even sick or was that something you two came up with?”

Sirius swallowed thickly, and thought – _‘oh I'm stuck between Scylla and Charybdis now.’_

“James, listen –”

“No. You listen to me, Sirius. We’ve been worried sick about you all summer. You disappear. Every time you’ve come back, you’ve been in a _right. fucking. state._ Always fucking crying. Somehow, every time I see you, you got worse,” James spat at him, and each word hit like the c _ruciatus,_ and he knew what those felt like first hand.

Sirius knew, just how angry James was at that moment because James had called him by his proper name.

“James –”

“No. _No_. Fuck you. Why are you throwing your life away like this? Why do you insist on being a sodding berk? Why are you acting like me, and mum, and dad – your own family, doesn’t care about you. All these for a fucking stranger.”

Oh. Isn’t that a bit rich coming from a boy with a picture-perfect family? Sirius could feel primal, visceral rage rose in him. It came out thunderously, a deafening conviction.

“I know him alright!” Sirius but shouted at him. It was his other first. He didn’t think he’d shouted at James before.

“The fuck you do. You’ve known him for _two weeks_ ,” James spat so venomously, that Sirius just couldn’t – anymore. He felt so invalidated.

Sirius fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He shook his head slowly trying to find what he couldn’t put into words. Hands went limp by his side. His broomstick fell on the ground with a thud. He didn’t care. He knew that he was a pathetic bleeding mess.

James made no move to comfort him. James was a vision of a displeased and wrathful Roman Ira, the Greek goddess of rage and madness on the doorstep. His chest was thrust out, legs planted wide, and one of his hands was gripping the wooden door frame so hard that Sirius swore he could hear the wood cracking underneath his fingers.

“I do… I just didn’t know about this,” Sirius said to the earth, his voice quavering, choke full with desperation and misery.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” James sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness.

“I didn’t know… Not until this burnt his hand.” He reached into his joggers for his silver cigarette case and threw it in the dirt in between them. It broke open, upended and his ciggies rolled all over the ground merrily like a bunch of gobstones instead of murderous sarcoma sticks.

There were dried blood stains on the case. Remus’. Deep red against silver. The emerald green Black family crest glinted brightly in the summer sun, taunting and mocking him. Did he really think that he could escape the written path of destiny for him? Of death and destruction? Isn’t that poetic justice or something? _Story of his fucking life_.

James remained stoic.

“He lied to you then? Imagine that. Match made in heaven.”

“I don’t think he knows, either.”

“Do you _really_ expect me to believe that?”

“James … some days … he doesn’t even remember me.” Sirius’ voice broke at last.

James hadn’t bothered to reply to that. Sirius reached deep in his soul for his best memory of Remus, the first time Remus had smiled at him. The first time Remus held his hand. The first time Remus had held Sirius in his arms and it made him feel like he belonged somewhere, complete. The first person who had truly known him, and understood.

Sirius owed this to him, to Remus.

“His mum … She hurts him … I know you wouldn’t understand because you have a mum and a dad who love you. But I do. All I’ve been trying to do was to save him. To do what you’ve done for me.”

Sirius struggled to breathe. His chest was a mess of broken glasses and lungfuls of sea water. He was drowning and he was sinking. His shoulder was shaking so hard, that he couldn’t tell if he was trembling in fear or if he was in a state of shock. He tried to blink his tears away, grabbing a handful of his jumper to wipe them away but the tears wouldn’t stop.

In between broken sobs and trembling lips, he continued:

“He has bipolar. Manic episodes. Memory loss. Abuse. Trauma. Hallucinations. Delusions. Everything that I was six years ago … but worse … because he never had anyone… like I had you.”

Sirius could feel it bubbling in his throat – bile or truth he couldn’t be sure.

He collapsed on himself, feeling heavy and having no desire to move. His forehead was pressed against the hard, warm ground in front of him and he didn’t care. There was dust in his lungs, and dirt on his cheeks and he thought if James were to up and left him here to rot, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind that terribly.

A jay screeched a call in the nearby oak tree and Sirius flinched so violently that his palms and forearms were scraped against the ground.

In between sobs and uncertainties, he bared it all out. Spilling it to the earth. His light brown skin blending with the earth.

> _“Do you know what that means? Means that he doesn’t have the same privileges that you do. It means he doesn’t have the world like you. It means that some days he doesn’t even remember who he is, where he wakes up at, how he hurt himself, and much less who the fuck I am or what I even mean to him._
> 
> _“Do you know why I said that he was just ill and I didn’t tell you the whole pile of fucked up bullshit that he suffers from? Because it’s not my damn story to tell. There’s always layers to shitty trauma. I’ve known you for six whole years. Do you really think you know everything about me? – that you know every hell I’ve lived through? You’ve barely skimmed the surface._
> 
> _“Do you know why I hated it when you call me your little brother?_
> 
> _“Because I couldn’t even call my own brother that. I couldn’t even fucking think about him because I fear how much I could hurt him. Because the last time I called him that, She made me use a kitchen steel wire to brush bits of food out of his burnt bleeding feet with my hands._
> 
> _“Kreacher poured boiling soup on them because he accidentally walked in on a meeting once. My own dear old Mother said this to me, and I remember it word for word because how the fuck do you get stuff like that out of your fucking head?_
> 
> _“‘Darling Sirius, if you care about your little brother so much, have it your way. Play nurse’._
> 
> _“Do you ever think about why I never said his name? Not once. Because every time I say his name even with the slightest bit of emotion, or affection, or feelings, and She heard – we’ll eat shards of glass with the side of dinner._
> 
> _“Do you know what it feels like to wake up and not remember shit? Do you know how difficult it is to starve a wizard to death? Do you know what it feels like to wake up and wish that you’re dead every fucking day instead of whatever it is you’re supposed to feel when you wake up?_
> 
> _“Do you know what it feels like to have no control over your own life, your own body? He doesn’t remember how he hurts himself. His own mum wants him gone, dead. She puts shit in his head. She starved him. You can’t possibly know what that feels like. But I do. I know. I fucking lived it._
> 
> _“You can see our pain. You can say nice bullshit. But nothing fixes this. You believe in the ideal that every problem can be solved. Every disease you have can be cured. Every fuck-up you did, you can run home to your mum and dad. You believe it because you’ve never faced the shitty alternative. We don’t have your luxury of hope._
> 
> _“To pile on all that bullshit: at some point, people just expect you to heal. To stop overreacting. To stop acting like a mad fucker. People get tired of your shit. People get tired of being there for you, caring for an invalid. They’d never understand. Like you, James. Exactly like what you did.”_

Sirius did not think – _hah_ that anything else would have mattered now.

Time must have passed. He didn’t know. He shut his eyes and wanted to send a silent prayer to St Senara, before letting the thought pass quickly – _‘why would I even bother, now.’_ If she had truly watched over them, if she had truly cared, she wouldn’t have let them suffer. She would have never let Remus slip through his fingers.

His head felt heavy, and eyes swollen and painful but all he wanted to do was laugh. He’d gone mad then – and he thought of how Remus had laughed and laughed in his arms the first time they'd met when he brought him back to his flat in London; an inkling of understanding there – _finally_.

Was there even words for this level of fuckery – where one disgraced heir found himself being in love with a werewolf, who didn’t even know that he was one and in the process, the heir broke the hearts and trust of his adoptive family, quite possibly putting himself and the people in love in danger et cetera ad infinitum.

An infinity later, or in no time at all, he didn’t know; Sirius felt warm hands against his cold clammy body. James picked him up bodily, putting his arms underneath his back and knees and carried him inside. He set Sirius carefully in Sirius’ bed and lay next to Sirius, pulling Sirius tightly into his arms. Sirius could feel hot trickle of tears against the nape of his neck – James’ tears – but he didn’t care anymore.

James patted his arm lightly and whispered in his ear, desperately trying and begging him to calm down. Sirius found this hilarious and wanted to bark out in a fit of mad laughter – only to find out he had been laughing all along; his chest constricted with mirth and unfounded glee.

Oh, if the heavens could see him now. Here he was, claiming his birthright as the bleeding mad heir to the Most Noble and the Most Ancient House of Black.

***

“Heaven and Earth! Are the shades of this Noble House to be thus polluted?” James said in an exaggerated Queen English while gesturing at Sirius in lieu of saying good morning. This was a thing James used to do, poking fun at Sirius’ love for muggle literature, just banter. He smiled good naturedly at Sirius, who waddled into the kitchen in his yesterday clothes; eyes bleary and swollen with tears and sleep riddled with nightmares.

James was frying something in a pan that smelt surprisingly good. After a few stirs with the spatula, he turned off the hob and grabbed a couple of plates out of the kitchen cupboard and plateted the food. He put on a kettle and turned his wand on it. Immediately, the kettle began to boil. He grabbed their mugs and put in tea bags – Earl Grey for him and Darjeeling for Sirius.

Sirius watched him move around the kitchen quietly for a bit, as he struggled to stay upright. His mind was a jumbled mess. He started to sway on his feet, so he forced himself to walk to the kitchen table.

“Haha,” Sirius responded, finally. Monotonously, void of humour, and way out of place. He dragged a chair out noisily and sat down.

“You all right?” James asked, putting a plate in front of him.

Sirius stared at it.

Scrambled eggs with chives and mushrooms on toasts. This was fine. Sirius wasn’t thinking about the kind old lady that fed him fluffy omelette during breakfast at the hotel Remus and him had stayed at just a few days ago. No, Sirius wasn’t thinking about a dreamed-up life where everything was fine. This was fine. He was fine. He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that James couldn’t cook for shite and now he was just casually making them breakfast and tea.

“That’s a trick question, right?”

James didn’t answer, but went to fetch them cutlery instead. He sat down in front of Sirius and started digging in. Sirius wanted to puke.

“Eat up, Pads. Big day today.” James said in between shovelling food into his mouth.

“What?” Sirius asked tiredly.

“We’re helping your boy. Research, snooping, stake out, the lot.”

Sirius shook his head slowly. No. Fuck this. This wasn’t a Marauders mission. This was his life. This was Remus’ and his.

“No,” Sirius said plainly.

“‘No’ we’re not helping him?” James asked, mouth full of food.

“No. I’m not dissecting his life behind his back.”

James stopped chewing and considered him for a moment. Properly looked at him – and Sirius saw himself mirrored in James’ eyes – sickly face, his light brown skin dull and grey. He looked like Death had owl-ed him home from the underworld last night. Sirius wondered what it must’ve felt like to be on the other side of the table. To wake up every day feeling like yourself, certain that you’re loved and needed.

“So, what are you suggesting?” James asked in a careful tone.

“I’m suggesting that you back off,” Sirius replied, firmly, standing his ground.

“Pads, I say this with all the love I have for you. Until we know for certain who he is, please don’t go looking for him again.”

“No.”

“Full moon is in two days.”

“No.”

“Pads. I can’t let you die.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“I can’t, James.”

“Pads.”

“I can’t just ... I _love_ him, Jamie. I love him. So much.”

Something in Sirius snapped as he said it, as he admitted it to the world in the clean, sterile brightness of his family’s kitchen. He broke down and James moved to sit next to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. All Sirius could do was repeat the words over, and over again, like a broken record in between heart wrenching, guttural sobs.

_“I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him...”_

As if it would’ve mattered. As if, it would’ve made any difference now. As if anything he did or said then would change a fucking thing.

James patted him on the back and whispered, “I know, Paddybear. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” echoing his broken confession and primal truth.

After James had managed to get some tea in him, Sirius couldn’t find it in him to protest when James picked him up in his arms and carried him to the fireplace. He had tried walking, but he fell to the floor as soon as he tried to stand up. Standing in front of the roaring green fire, James pressed a soft kiss to the side of Sirius' temple, braved a smile as he said clearly to the fire:

“Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by Fall Out Boy
> 
> Song/ (was also published as a) Poem is “Dance Me to the End of Love” by Leonard Cohen
> 
> p/s: Long Live the Car Crash Hearts.
> 
> p/p/s: I would’ve thought that despite not being an animagus (yet), James would’ve called Sirius Padfoot because of the constellation he was named after, and I’d wager it was also because Sirius possessed a deep hatred for his own given name. He didn’t like to talk about it. Sirius’ nickname for him is simply Jamie. They’ll progress to Prongs one day. Maybe. I’d like to think so.
> 
> ***
>
>>   
> Translation:
>> 
>> Merci beaucoup pour toutes ces aimables paroles. Désolé pour le dérangement. - Thanks for the nice words and sorry for the inconvenience.
>> 
>> Je besoin de ma moitié! J’ai besoin de lui! C'est un … Putain, y a pas moyen que ce soit vrai. Je le jure. Quoi foutre? Qu'est- ce que je fais? Non, c’est des conneries. Merde. - I need my other half! I need him! It's a ... Fuck, there's no way that's true. I swear. What the fuck? What do I do? No, this is bullshit. Shit.
>> 
>> Il faut qu'une porte soit ouverte ou fermée. - You can’t have it both ways.
>> 
>> de qui je me fie dieu me garde. - A man's worst enemies are often those of his own house.
>> 
>> le meilleur n'en vaut rien. - Bad is the best choice.
>> 
>> stuck between Scylla and Charybdis - an idiom derived from Greek mythology, which means stuck in between two terribly difficult decision/hard place


	10. Flight of the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perseids, _homenum revelio_ , and Alchemy glyphs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW mentions of overdosing and gaslighting at the end of the chapter.

It was many and many a year ago,  
In a kingdom by the sea,  
That a maiden there lived whom you may know  
By the name of Annabel Lee;  
And this maiden she lived with no other thought  
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,  
In this kingdom by the sea,  
But we loved with a love that was more than love—  
I and my Annabel Lee—  
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven  
Coveted her and me.

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side  
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,  
In her sepulchre there by the sea—  
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

☆

Their 48 hours were running out. All that they had to go on with was a name – Lyall Lupin; and it had reached a dead end. Lyall Lupin, apparently, was a half-blood that went to Hogwarts almost two decades after Monty. Lyall Lupin was a Ministry worker who had killed himself more than a decade ago. Nothing much was known about him. There had been no record of him being married or having a son.

There was no known record of Remus Lupin either; this despite the hours they spent digging around at the Potter’s estate’s expansive library.

James had wanted to chance a meeting with Meda and talked her into looking up Remus’ name on the werewolf registry at St Mungo’s. But throwing caution into the air was the last thing that Sirius had wanted right now. It left them with their final option. One deadly last resort – a stake-out on the full moon at the Lupins’.

It was mental and Sirius couldn’t even believe that James had agreed to this. Sirius had suspected that James was trying to atone to his guilt. Sirius didn’t know what to make of that. So, he let it be.

The moon was set to rise at a quarter to nine at night and set at half past five in the morning. That would be almost nine agonising hours of suffering for them – he and James or Remus, he didn’t know who he meant. Winter transformations must’ve been twice as much hell as the nights were longer. At least this one was shorter.

 _‘There is no bright side to this,’_ he firmly reminded himself. Remus would be hurt, regardless.

There was a meteor shower the day before, _Perseids_. The meteors were called the Perseids because they hailed from the Perseus constellation. Perseus was home to Sirius’ favourite cousin’s namesake Andromeda, and one of Sirius’ great grandmothers, Cassiopeia. Like the star she was named after, Sirius’ great grandmother had been nothing but vain and arrogant. Naming their offspring after the heavens and adding broods onto the cesspool of insanity were just another pretentious thing that his family did that Sirius was very sick of. He was determined to let it die off with him.

After dinner, Sirius and James had climbed out of Sirius’ bedroom window at the Potter’s estate and scaled the roof, listening to Frank Ocean on Spotify (his favourites were _Withers_ and _At Best You’re Love_ ) and waited for the stars to fall from the sky.

Watching the night sky to him was a bit like staring at his family tapestry. So instead, Sirius thought about his insignificant place in the universe – of how a clump of silver could purportedly rob him so easily of his newly found love and happiness. Sirius thought about the passages and lores he had managed to cram on lycanthropy. The ancients believed in a connection between these seven metals and the seven classical planets. The alchemy glyphs for these metals and their heavenly patrons hold power over one another. Like the sun had ruled the gold in the belly of the earth, the moon had ruled the silver.

And such was the basis. The plain and simple reason that was spelled out to him as to why a chunk of metal, something trivial and of little significant consequences otherwise to everybody’s lives, could win over in an inequitable fisticuff against the supposedly most powerful magic of all – love.

 _‘Maybe it isn’t really love, then, if I’m losing,’_ Sirius shook his head clear of the thought.

He recited passages from the books he had read from the library and tried to go over it again, wanting to be certain that he had not missed an important tidbit. There wasn’t much known about the werewolves. There were extensive methods and extrapolative ways to kill them, sure. Of course, there were countless books written about why they should be killed on sight on account of how dangerous and murderous they were. Bits on how allegedly precious and useful their body parts were in curing magical diseases slash illness, especially increasing male sexual prowess, were aplenty too – _Sirius had set those books on fire; and it felt damn good_. Apart from that, there was no data on who they were, their habits, their common dwellings, and their livelihood.

Even now, there were heavy prejudice and an all-encompassing ban on them from joining the society. It was unheard of for a werewolf to attend Hogwarts, or hold down a job. There was no data of werewolves raising their cubs, or having a family. Merlin knows what they had to do all these while to survive. Surely, the protocols implemented had been more humane as of late – the werewolves were no longer required to surrender themselves for three whole days surrounding the full moon at the Ministry’s dungeons to transform every month. The advancement in the field of potion had seen to that.

Regardless, there had been a call from the masses to cut back on the expenditure of wolfsbane administered to these werewolves at the Ministry. The potion was highly complex to concoct and very costly. Many viewed this as a waste to the Ministry funding, which could better be allocated to building a flashier Quidditch National Stadium, or a new wing for St Mungo’s, or an inclusive primary education for all wizarding children. Anything that benefits all (that weren’t medically challenged).

It was pure discrimination and social prejudice towards the otherwise, was what it was. This was a systemic exclusion that was designed to fail the werewolves at their lives before they even had the chance to start one. This was oppression to drive them out, using a legal system approved by the government. A broad daylight ethnic cleansing condoned by the nation itself.

The only salve for his otherwise bleeding heart upon reading entirely unhelpful books, was a single line written by one Professor Emerett Picardy. _‘It is incorrect to state that the werewolves suffer from a permanent loss of moral sense,’_ the Professor had written in his book _Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don’t Deserve to Live._

Even that book had failed to tell Sirius anything useful about werewolves.

If Remus’ mother was aware of all these, it was no wonder that she had hidden her son from the magical world. It didn’t answer the question how she dealt with the monthly transformation though. Had she been a witch all along? But there was no evidence to support this hypothesis – Sirius had been very thorough in his research.

How, then?

***

The plan was simple. They had _apparated_ under James’ invisibility cloak before the sun set and kept watch on the Lupins’ household.

That was as far as they’ve gotten, because honestly, Sirius couldn’t think past that point. He had said no to everything else James had suggested. For Sirius, it felt like he was on an almost crossing tangent; in which everything that mattered in his life was dangling precariously on the precipice of chaos and inexistence.

James and him had been leaning against the house for close to an hour now, both sitting cross-legged and saying nothing to each other. _What can you say to your brother anyway, when you were both spying on a supposed 'boy' you loved?_

They sheltered against the elements by crowding close to the porch. Their backs were pressed against the cool wall, their knees very nearly pressing onto one another, but they didn’t. Their postures were stiff, and their muscles were tense. They were staring hard at the scene of nothing in front of them. Sirius didn’t know about James – but his own eyes were empty and void of everything.

The stake-out point was deliberate, but nothing else about the entire enterprise was.

They sat there for hours and they got nothing. The row of houses were far too quiet and deserted. They had seen no neighbours coming and going, even after five p.m. when the muggles working hours had ended – except for an old couple who lived in the house at the far end. There weren’t even any children playing around.

It was odd, considering it was summer. Sirius didn’t want to admit it, but it unnerved him.

Sirius also hadn't been able to hear much of anything from the inside of Remus’ house. The only reason that he hadn’t broken into the house himself to check if Remus was alright was because he saw Remus came back from school at half past four.

When Sirius saw Remus walking down the road, he wanted to jump up and pull Remus into his arms – but he knew he couldn’t. Mustn’t. Not like this. Not when he could hurt Remus. So Sirius did what other young men did when their love was hopeless and unreturned – he stood by the sidelines and watched as the love of his life walked past. And wasn’t there something morosely poetic about that?

Remus had that empty look in his eyes again; they were red, sunken and swollen. There were deep dark black circles underneath his eyes and his face was void of any expressions. Remus looked pale and tired. Sirius watched helplessly as Remus staggered on his feet and dragged himself home, putting one foot in front of the other laboriously, almost buried under the weight of books he was carrying in his arms.

The sight brought Sirius back to the first day they met. He remembered how shattered Remus was back then, and how Sirius had vowed to keep Remus safe. He had vowed that he’d do everything to give Remus the life he deserved. Now he was back to square one, Remus and him looking like a pair of separated lovers at the meadow of Asphodel. Or maybe he was off the chess board entirely now, Sirius didn’t even know. Remus hadn’t reached out on the phone either – Sirius hadn’t let the blasted thing out of his sight in days.

Sirius wondered if Remus had eaten that day. He wondered if Remus had slept well. He wondered if Greyback Jr. had given Remus shit at school today. He wondered if Remus still had his phone. He wondered if Remus had listened to Fleetwood Mac and thought of him. He wondered if Remus remembered him. Sirius watched Remus walk past him, and into his house.

Sirius’ heart swelled with yearning to just grab Remus by the hand and run away somewhere with him – _because that had worked out so well the first time, hadn’t it?_

Instead, he slumped back against the hard brick wall and sighed inwardly, as he settled once more on the uncomfortable stretch of cement.

There really was no other place nearby for them to sit, anyway. The Lupin’s household was a terrace house with ugly exposed brick walls that could’ve been a popular architectural style in the 80s when everybody was high. The bricks were a dull brown colour and the paint on the door was peeling off. It could’ve been grey once. Would it matter?

The row of houses sat on a dead-end street. The landscape was void of any trees and there were ugly slabs of cement and dead grass in front of the houses, instead of a yard or a garden. Across the road, there was a rundown off licence, where dodgy characters walked in and out all evening, smoking rolled up cigarettes and carrying clinking bottles of liquor openly.

Everything was wild and unkempt. Even the wooden fence at the far end of the houses looked like it could be blown over by the slightest wisp of wind, if not saved by the fact that it was propped against a couple of recycling bins. It was heartbreaking to think that a place as horrid as this was home to the most beautiful soul Sirius had ever known.

These horrible thoughts piled up on the corner of Sirius’ mind, and they merrily kicked back the ticking clock of time as it slugged by. That night felt like the longest night he’d ever had, even longer than those nights he had spent in the dungeons. Or even the time he spent all night in a broom cupboard that was stuck in between two of the Hogwarts’ merlons, thanks to Snivellus – which were right above McGonagal’s transfiguration classroom. She had raised all hell when she found him there the next morning, no thanks to James who swore had looked everywhere. But it was all good in the end, as the idea for the Marauders map was born then.

Funnily enough, being caged and trapped somewhere did wonders to his mental faculty, Sirius thought. Especially when the cage was not your family’s dungeons and you were not haunted by the ghosts of trauma and family disappointments they used to ~~murder~~ punish down there, screaming for you to run, or wailing and lamenting their agony. As if the dead had anything to complain about. _They were free, weren’t they?_

Also, as Marauders, they were no strangers to all-night long missions – as there were plenty of shenanigans to be engaged with and debauchery to be attended to. There were often _dungbombs_ to be hidden under the Slytherin table in the great hall before breakfast, suits of armour to spell to go off in screams of loud sonnets recitations as unsuspecting first years walked by, Hogsmeade runs at midnight to stock up drinks and illegal treats for their legendary parties – birthdays, Quidditch match celebrations, Halloweens, Christmases, Hanukkah, Diwali, Eids, and New Year.

But never they had one unbearably long night like this – when everything was tremendously appalling, when everything was dangerously real.

Sirius still hadn’t said a word to James since they had arrived.

In fact, all the things he had said to James since they came back from the cottage had been stilted and in a sharp, forced manner. He didn’t even know why, and he had long since resigned on trying to untangle his emotions. Meanwhile, James had been bending over backward trying to wipe the slate clean again, trying to unsay all of the things he probably meant two days ago in the backyard of the Potters’ cottage. Honestly, Sirius didn’t know if he relished in James’ agony or attention more.

Maybe he truly was made of the bones and the blood of the Blacks after all.

Sirius didn’t like to think about that, so he let his mind wander in the safe subspace of his head belonging to him and Remus. He wanted the memories to swallow him whole and save him. He thought about all the places he had gone to with Remus these past few weeks and how everything stood in such contradictory quality with the reality he was in now. Next to this grim and grey landscape, a paltry sum of his and Remus’ summer was a plethora of bright gaudy neon rainbow colours.

They had gone to almost every beach that the guide book had suggested, making their way down the list of the Top 10 Must Visit Beaches in Cornwall – Port Isaac, Godrevy Beach, Perranporth, Kynance Cove, Harlyn Bay and other beaches that were just blurry places with Remus next to him. They spent all their time doing nothing and everything boys so smitten with each other do. They frolicked in the sun, swam in the aqua blue sea and exchanged sweet, slow kisses right there on the beach in front of god and everyone.

Neither Sirius nor Remus were particularly secular. But kissing and touching Remus, – and, by god, just having Remus himself in his life – had been a deeply religious and spiritual experience for Sirius. Funny, that. Sirius had never thought that someone like him, someone half mad and half mortal, could ever hold something as delicate and diasphonous as their love in his bare hands; something so akin to epiphany. _A satori of light, awe and wonder._

As the sky turned darker, Sirius got more and more agitated. He was itching for a smoke and his mind was reeling from the flashes of something beautiful and delicate. Next to him, James had resorted to reading a N.E.W.T. Transfiguration textbook under the flickering porch light. It was the only source of light in the entire street apart from that lone dim street lamp at the far end. Sirius didn’t know how he managed with his already poor eyesight.

Night had almost descended and she nearly had them in the dark cold clutches of her fingers. Her queen, the moon, would rise soon.

James had gotten a Head Boy badge in his Hogwarts mail the other day. Lily, Sirius heard, was made Head Girl. Sirius had congratulated him and put in a mail order for one Firebolt Supreme from the Quality Quidditch Supply owl catalogue – supposedly their best model yet. Monty had insisted on chipping in when he caught Sirius in the kitchen at 4 a.m. wrangling the family owl to send in the order.

Sirius had let him.

 _Really._ Good for James. Good for him and Lily. Sirius couldn’t be happier for them if he tried. This was just another stroke of good luck for the golden couple, he supposed. Their lot in life. Living the beloved British Dream. Maybe next it was onto getting the cushy job at the Ministry for Magic for him, or James becoming the Star Chaser for any British and Irish Quidditch League team. Or even anything he wanted in the wizarding world. Lily by his side, and maybe even a couple of messy-haired kids in tow soon.

For the life of him, Sirius couldn’t imagine living a second of that dream.

Expectedly, Effie had wanted to throw a small (unlikely) dinner party and told them to invite Lily and their friends over. James had said no to that, and told Effie that he hadn’t wanted a fuss, stunning her. Going out for dinner, just the four of them would be fine. That all he’d wanted was his parents and his brother there and that would be more than enough. Sirius didn’t know of a time where James had turned down a reason for a party or for a chance of seeing Lily.

A loud pop – a telltale sign of apparition snapped Sirius out of his reverie.

In unison, James and Sirius’ heads snapped up to look at the intruder, and they stood up so fast Sirius had nearly gotten whiplash. They assumed their duelling stance, feet planted apart firmly on the ground, shoulder straight and eyes sharp. In a split second, their wands were in their hands, pointing at the intruder – a short man in a hooded dark cloak.

James and Sirius watched as the hooded figure looked around. The man turned his head this and that way – looking for muggle onlookers, probably. With his wand, the man drew symbols in the air – _homenum revelio_ and protective charms, Sirius recognised them as his own body tensed. Sirius gripped the cloak tight in his hands, fearing for the worst. But the ancient magic of the Invisibility cloak held up, and they were safe.

When the man was satisfied that there was no one around, he walked down the short walkway to the Lupins’ front door, closer to them.

Underneath the cloak, James gripped Sirius’ arm so tightly he could feel James’ fingernails almost breaking through the fabric of his shirt. James was holding him back – not wanting him to do something stupid and that could reveal themselves to the man, or worse. He wanted to snarl at James to let him go, but that would be proving the point.

Up this close, Sirius could smell days-old body odour off the man. He reeked of tobacco and alcohol, too. His face was still hidden underneath his hood, and he couldn’t exactly go and have a look now, could he? James had Sirius stuck and unmoved by his side – _damn him_. So he watched. Watched as the man walked, his gait was affected by his bandy legs, and stopped in front of the door and gave it a singular sharp rap with his grubby hands. Within seconds, the door swung open inwards so forcefully it was almost ripped off the hinges. Sirius was pleased to see that the man flinched and almost jumped backward in terror.

Hope Lupin stood underneath the door frame, glaring openly at the man. Her nostrils were flaring, and her breath was oddly laboured. Her chin was tilted high and her mouth was a tight stretch of thin lines. Hope’s arms were crossed over her midriff, almost covering a large browning stain at the front of her lumpy cardigan.

She couldn’t have been cooking. Sirius wondered what that could’ve been about.

Sirius then took in the sight of her, for this was the first time he had seen her. Her stained cardigan, her lack of warmth, her clear anguish. He wondered for a second, how someone as lovely as Remus spent years with this woman. At least, Sirius got to live at Hogwarts ten months a year.

“Mrs. Lupin, it's lovely seeing you aga–”

“I’ve told you _not_ to call me that! You’re late!” Hope snapped at the man, rudely cutting him off.

Sirius had to admire the guts of this mangy person because he didn’t even falter.

“ ‘S not my fault. _Msaw Ætare’s_ closing down. They’re selling _venomous tentacula pods_ for six sickles a pound! ’S a steal! Well, I didn’t _exactly_ pay so –” the man replied, unbothered as his wand free hand patted the suspiciously bulging front pocket of his robe. It was leaking.

“ _I don’t care._ Do you have it or _not_ , Mundungus?” Hope snarled, cutting him off.

So. Mundungus – that was his name. Sirius didn’t know anyone by that name. Not a pureblood then. Nobody he knew that went to Hogwarts had that name either. He shot a questioning look at James. James shook his head slightly and continued to watch the scene in front of them unfurl. Right, useful that.

“Orite, orite calm down will ya? Got it right ‘ere,” Mundungus replied, and he took out a goblet out of another front pocket and whatever it contained was exuding a faint blue smoke.

 _‘Wolfsbane potion,’_ Sirius thought, recognising it immediately, his heart thumping wildly somewhere in his throat.

“Get on with it,” Hope spat at Mundungus and turned on her feet, walked back into the house.

Mundungus muttered a colourful string of curse words under his breath and he walked inside, shutting the door close behind him.

Sirius turned to look at James, who had a bewildered look on his face. Sirius’ own breath was quick and shallow, verging on hyperventilation. A split second after he was openly gasping for breath. He was on edge now, and he pressed a palm against his chest hard, almost to the point of pain. He reached out his other hand blindly for James, desperately holding onto him for stability.

Sirius’s eyes darted wildly at his surroundings, trying to absorb and process everything that was going on.

“Alright?” James mouthed at him as he leaned in closer to Sirius. James’ eyebrows were drawn together, lips pursued as he stayed still to watch Sirius. His left hand closed over Sirius’ on his arms and he squeezed them tightly, once. He didn’t let go and Sirius was glad for it.

Sirius nodded hastily, willing himself to calm down – _‘not, now,’_ he thought.

James opened his mouth to ask another question, but he stopped as they both noticed the sudden lack of sound. Sirius spun around wildly to look, or to search for something that had caused it. Everything around them – the wind, the chorus of cicadas and katydids were muffled. The sounds all around them had been sucked into a vacuum, and only one thing could do that. _Silencing charms_.

“The fuck do we do now?” Sirius spoke for the first time that day, his voice breaking from the lack of use and fear.

Next thing he knew, he was pacing in front of the Lupin’s small lawn, his brain whirling hard, thinking. It was true then, the hard proof was right there, poking him in the eye. But Sirius still didn’t want to believe, because he was keen on being difficult and he flat-out refused to admit it until he could see the incriminating reality for himself.

James, who had been watching him, had caught on to whatever absolutely mental plan that was forming in Sirius’ head immediately.

“Pads, _no_ ,” James hissed at him. He had used both of his hands to grab at Sirius’ now, trying to stop him from walking away. Sirius ignored him and walked away determinedly, dragging James along in his wake.

“Shame we didn’t have a broom, eh? You got at least twelve and we didn’t think to bring one,” Sirius responded, not even bothering to whisper back or look at James, pulling away and trying to look up to the second floor of the house at the same time. Sirius wanted to look at the window that he knew would lead him right into Remus’ bedroom.

“Pads, we don’t know what else the bloke had casted on the house. Did you not see the Wolfsbane potion?” James pleaded in a hurried whisper, as he was stumbling about on his feet. Trying and failing to keep Sirius under the invisibility cloak, and the cloak slipped off James’ shoulder in the madness.

“I think I’ll just do this the muggle way,” Sirius replied, conversationally, still not looking at James as he tapped a finger against his chin, like he was in the Great Hall, mulling over what he wanted to have for breakfast, bacon and eggs or toasts and jam.

“There’s a bloody werewolf in this house right now. Please, don’t do anything stupid,” James tried again, this time in a desperate hushed tone.

“Stupid’s my middle name. _Well_ , it’s my father’s name. Same difference,” Sirius replied easily and finally, finally managed to shake himself free from James’ iron grip. He shot one of his family’s famous demented grins at James’ floating torso.

“The muggles can see you!” James said aloud, nearly shouting, finally cracking.

“Watch me,” Sirius replied as he extended his arms fully like that one muggle demigod on a cross at St Senara’s, and walked backwards. He grinned manically, but his crinkled eyes were void of mirth. He snapped his finger and magic that had been running wild underneath his skin for days surged free and it flowed, completely engulfing him.

He had casted a wordless, wandless _disillusionment charm_ so powerful that he knew James couldn’t see him now, the sodding shortsighted bastard. For good measure, he casted _Protego Maxima, Fianto Duri,_ and _Repello Inimicum_ too.

James swore loudly into the thin air and his hands shot out blindly in front of him trying to make another grab at Sirius. Sirius smiled fondly at the sight and sighed. Well, he had watched James make a fool of himself chasing after Lily for six bleeding years. It was his turn then. _‘Go gay or go home right?’_ Or something close to that he had heard Marlene said.

Now, Sirius knew full well that wizards weren’t supposed to use magic in such close proximity muggles, much less in their living area, but that Mundungus bloke had used magic. There was a caveat here and Sirius was hell-bent to abuse it.

He stepped closer to the wall and put a palm up against it. He could feel magic thrumming underneath it, layers of charms in fact, for magic always left traces. He couldn’t make out the specific charms that Mundungus had casted on the house, but Sirius bet anything that it was protective magic. _Protego Totalum_ maybe, _Salvio Hexia_ definitely.

There must be some sort of a _Muggle-Repelling charm_ thrown into the mix as well. It would be no wonder at all that the neighbouring muggles had moved out if Mundungus and Hope had been doing this every month during the full moon since Remus was five.

Sirius carefully scaled the side of the house, finding a foothold on the window ledge of the living room window, thankful that it wasn’t raining or he would’ve slipped and fell by now. He managed to reach for Remus’ window ledge and Sirius hung there for a second by the tips of his fingers before he finally let go of his foothold and pulled himself up; silently thanking Godric for James Potter's quidditch training regime.

He hung onto the window’s ledge with both his elbow resting on it and his boots scraping for purchase against the exposed brick wall. Sirius was nervous. He knew that he didn’t have much time.

Through the shut window, Sirius peered in. Remus’ room was dark. Sirius could barely see anything. There was a crack in the curtain that he could peep through, but he could hardly make anything out. Sirius could see the bare outlines of Remus’ bed and cupboard in the corner of the room. He blinked his eyes desperately, trying to get them adjusted to see in the darkness.

When that didn’t work, he squinted and tried to lean closer without actually pressing his face against the window because, Merlin, he was not a _creep_.

The bedroom door swung open suddenly and Sirius nearly fell off. He watched as Mundungus walked in, smoking goblet in one hand, his lit up wand raised in the other; Hope in tow. He could see a little bit better into the room now, there was light turned on in the hallway too. They had left the door ajar behind them. Probably for a quick exit, as there was only a couple more minutes before the full moon was in the sky. _Cowards_.

Sirius watched as Mundungus walked up to Remus’ bedside, as he stepped on the neat stack of paintings and brushes and art stuff that Remus had left on the floor, crinkling the paper and snapping a few of the brushes into pieces.

Sirius had never wanted to kill a man more in his life.

Mundungus stood there waiting as Hope propped Remus unconscious body up. She pulled Remus’ head back by the hair roughly and held his mouth open as Mundungus tipped the content of the goblet in Remus’ mouth. Hope then pinched Remus nose so he would swallow the potion.

When they were done, Hope and Mundungus walked out, slamming the door shut behind them, leaving Remus' frail and motionless body on the bed, not even bothering to tuck him under the duvet.

Sirius was seething. What have they done to his Remus? What the bleeding fuck had they been doing to Remus all these years?

Above him the clouds drifted apart with the wind, finally clearing a patch on the sky for the full moon to shine. The light streamed right though the gap in the curtain of Remus’ bedroom, and Sirius watched as the person he loved more than magic itself transformed into a werewolf.

When the transformation finished, a werewolf was curled up instead on Remus’ bed, duvet pooled on his paws, breathing evenly, and deeply asleep.

When he had finally tore his eyes off the wolf, Sirius looked around the room, trying to find any incriminating evidence the pair of demented fuckers had left behind. The bedroom almost looked as it did the first time Sirius saw it.

The cupboard in the corner was still there unchanged but the wall was now full with taped up paintings and sketches that Sirius recognised as the places he had been with Remus this summer. He smiled sadly at the sight, not knowing if they would visit another place together, or if he could fulfill his promise to save Remus now.

The bulky desktop computer was still there on the desk, with a tall stack of books next to some odds and sods. The moonlight reflected on something shiny and it caught his eyes. Sirius took another proper look at it. Sirius recognised it at once – right there, right on top of a copy of Remus’ English textbook was Remus’ recently emptied and crumpled up blister packs of his Bipolar medication.

Sirius knew it was not Remus doing.

He was certain of it, because his Remus was a delicate creature. He folded his dirty socks even when his hand was burnt and they were literally fleeing the hotel. His Remus was not this crumpled mess. His Remus folded his receipts and tucked them away in his pockets! His Remus refused to even dog ear a page and rather memorise it even when he knew he would forget it later.

His Remus was gentle and soft and he would _never_ –

No, Sirius knew that. And Sirius knew that his Remus would pop the pills out of the blister pack foil carefully, one by one before packing his medications away again because he didn’t like it when people saw them or found out about his condition. His Remus had even packed the empty foils back in the purple box – Sirius had watched him do that more than once.

This, no. This blister pack had been shred open. The purple Epilim box was nowhere to be seen.

So, not only they had fucked with Remus’ mind, the bleeding motherfuckers, Remus’ sad excuse of a mother had also been overdosing his boyfriend, and drugging him out monthly for years. _Brilliant_.

Sirius let go of the ledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by Zayn.  
> #101D
> 
> Poem is “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe
> 
> P/S: Imagine a graph.  
> The x-axis variable read: My Love for Sirius Black.  
> The y-axis variable is  
> My Fear of Sirius Black’s Sublime Power & Celestial Beauty. 
> 
> The graph shows a positive linear relationship,  
> but in my dreams,  
> it morphed into an increasing exponential function  
> before it consumes me.
> 
> ***


	11. Clair de Lune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A magician, penguins, and Rowena Cade.

_Votre âme est un paysage choisi  
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques  
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi  
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques._

_Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur  
L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune,  
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur  
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,_

_Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,  
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres  
Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,  
Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres._

Your soul is a select landscape  
Where charming masqueraders and bergamaskers go  
Playing the lute and dancing and almost  
Sad beneath their fantastic disguises.

All sing in a minor key  
Of victorious love and the opportune life,  
They do not seem to believe in their happiness  
And their song mingles with the moonlight,

With the still moonlight, sad and beautiful,  
That sets the birds dreaming in the trees  
And the fountains sobbing in ecstasy,  
The tall slender fountains among marble statues.

☆

“Pads?” James’ groggy voice broke the silence of the Potter’s cottage living room.

“ _Merde_ ,” Sirius stopped in his tracks, right hand hovering mid air, inches away from the front door doorknob. With a heavy sigh, he turned around to look at James, who apparently had been sleeping on the sofa in the living room.

James, who was looking rumpled with bed hair and his Gryffindor pajamas, seemed to have taken it upon himself to be the night time caretaker of his own parents’ cottage. Wasn’t that just brilliant. Honestly, the nerve of him. It was like he thought Sirius couldn’t be trusted to look after himself or something.

Well. There went his plan to sneak out, then.

“What time is it, Pads?” James asked in a sleepy voice, half sitting up.

“Just past six.”

“In the evening?? I’ve slept all day??”

“No. In the morning. Look, it's still dark out.”

“Oh. Right. Where’re you going at ass o’clock in the morning then?”

“Nowhere. Just out.”

_“Pads.”_

_“Oh, alright._ I’m going to see Remus.”

“Pads, can you –”

“No. Absolutely not. You’re not stopping me from seeing him. No. You don’t get to say you’ll tell mum on me . No, you don’t get to guilt trip me for wanting to see someone I love, someone I think I’d rather die than live without, because you know what, James? This is a disgusting display of prejudice. You’re blinded by your own predisposition to kindness. You can’t. Protect. Me. Forever.

“Just because you think you know what’s best for me, doesn’t mean it is. Also, contrary to popular belief, _cough_ yours _cough_ , I know what I’m doing. I know him, know what he needs. Right now, he needs me.

“Remus is a werewolf for, at most, ten hours a month. That’s only 1.4% of his entire life. The other 98.6% – he’s the kindest, sweetest, loveliest person I know. Forgive me for saying this but he’s the one person who's never expected anything from me, and yet, all I want to do is to give him the world. He deserves so much more, even more than I can give.

“Numbers don’t lie. I think I would know a thing or two about that seeing that I broke the record for the highest mark for O.W.L. Arithmancy test in the country last year. So, yeah. I think I like my odds. I’m going to go and see him now if you’ll kindly excuse me,” Sirius said, ending his speech by staring James down.

Sirius was a bit upset, then. He really had expected the worst, but he was so tired of having to be ready to bite back all the time. But he’d do this, a million times over. Anything for Remus. Sirius kept looking at James, daring him to say something and finally noticing that James had a particularly amused expression on his face.

Sirius cocked his eyebrows at him questioningly.

“I was about to ask you to say ‘hi’ to Remus for me. But, yeah. Bloody good speech. I like the bit about the numbers. Did you stay up all night coming up with that or did you just make it up as you go? And here I thought the noises coming from your room last night were just you wanking to his pictures. This is better though. Proper blackmail material. Can’t wait to meet Remus again and tell him that. You could do with a bit more hand gestures and throwing things around to make it more dramatic, though,” James said, snickering.

“You’re a git. You know that right?” Sirius scoffed at him and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah go see your boy. Tell him I love him more than you already.”

“Tosser. Don’t wait up.”

“Love you too, Pads. Be gentle with my brother-in-law.”

“Piss off.” Sirius said but with no bite to it and slammed the door behind him because he was him.

A second later the door cracked open again. Sirius’ popped his head in and he yelled at the top of his lungs into the living room at James before slamming it close again,

“LOVE YOU, JAMIE. BYE.”

James chuckled and threw a cushion at a cackling Sirius but the door was already slammed shut by then. The cushion hit the door with a dull thud and fell on the floor, a waste of their past war. James let out a contented sigh and went back to sleep.

***

Remus was not there. Sirius waited all day long by his school but he didn’t show. Sirius wanted to run all the way to Remus’ house and kick their front door down and demand to see him. But he didn’t want to cause Remus any trouble with Hope.

So Sirius went home, had dinner with James who made chicken tikka masala, Sirius’ favourite. Turned out Lily had gotten James into a muggle cooking show called the Great British Bake Off and now he fancied himself a home cook chef. Sirius was just glad that James didn’t pry.

They spent their Saturday and Sunday together playing Qudditch and going to the city center to catch a film at the muggle cinema, and to do a bit of shop. ‘Retail therapy,’ James had said it was. It felt nice, this. Just like the summers they always had.

On Monday afternoon, Sirius was back at his regular spot – perched outside on that wall in front of Remus’ school, chain smoking. He waited patiently as he watched other muggle school kids walk past him home, one after the other. Some shot him and Elvendork a curious glance, others completely ignored him.

It was quarter to five before he finally caught sight of Remus. By then, Sirius’ fingers were shaking so hard with tremors of nerves that he could barely hold onto his cigarettes. He watched as Remus walked out the front door of his school, across the quad, closer and closer to him. All the while, Sirius’ heart was a _thump thump_ of mess in his chest.

Remus walked right past Sirius.

 _Merde_.

After he had shook off his initial shock, Sirius jumped off the wall and scrambled after Remus. Desperation was hanging around him like an extra layer of oversized robe and Sirius was surprised he didn’t trip over it.

“Remus, wait,” Sirius said, voice almost breaking, hot on Remus’ heel.

Remus ignored him.

Sirius broke into a jog trying to catch up with Remus’ long stride, and made a grab at Remus’ arm, almost in a fit of despair. He managed to grab a fistful of Remus’ uniform. Remus froze in his tracks. Sirius let go immediately.

Time came to a standstill as Sirius watched Remus spun on his heel to look right at Sirius. He towered over Sirius in height and Remus was using that advantage to have Sirius put off his stroke. A dark look was on his face, and Remus looked positively livid; lips thin and his features a harsh pane. It was unnerving and daunting to witness up close. It almost reminded him of _Hope_.

Sirius stood his ground.

“What do you want, Sirius? Finally decided I wasn’t a freak again?” Remus said waspishly.

Sirius let out a sigh of relief. _‘He remembered, he remembered me’_ , Sirius thought, and a weight the size of a pregnant Norwegian Ridgeback slid off his shoulder.

“Got tired of Wimbledon? Did your yacht run aground? Royal Opera House burnt down maybe? Why are you here?” Remus all but snarled at him, voice scathing. He was glowering at Sirius openly now, taking the sight of the black haired boy in front of him like it was a threat to be dealt with.

“I want to see you." Sirius said in a quiet voice and Remus ignored him. He might as well have addressed an empty mausoleum.

"Also... Also, I made a promise to you and I – I intend to keep the promise.” Sirius continued hurriedly, his voice urgent. Remus must understand. He must.

“No one cares if you break a bloody promise. News flash, you're not living a Victorian period drama. God, you're not going to be struck by lightning or summat for breaking _a promise_ ,” Remus returned scathingly.

“Re – please. Can you just listen. Let me explain, at least, please. Just hear me out.”

“Funny. I thought we have this wonderful thing called a telephone. Would’ve saved you a trip.”

“Re, I’m sorry. I didn’t know if –,” Sirius faltered. He didn’t know how much Remus remembered. _‘I’m doing this all wrong,’_ Sirius thought, panicking.

“You could’ve called. A text would’ve been nice.”

“I’m sorry. Please just listen first. Please give me a chance. Re, please. Give us a chance. Please let us have this. Please let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything.”

“Have _what?_ ” Remus snapped, squinting at him.

“Everything. Everything we have done this summer. More even. Or, or ... anything you’re willing to give me,” his voice breaking a little bit towards the end of his sentence.

“Yeah? What do I do after you’ve fucked off to school then? Maybe I don’t want to be the piece of meat you fucked around during summer anymore.”

“Come live with me.”

“You’ve got a place? _Really?_ Where?”

“A flat. London.”

_“Where?”_

“Camden.”

A look of realisation passed through Remus’ face for a second, and then it was back to anger again. _‘Fuck, I’m fucking this up,’_ Sirius thought, freaking out even more.

“So it was true, then. I wasn’t dreaming about that whole your head in the fire thing. Look, whoever you are, whatever the _fuck_ you are, just leave me alone.”

“I can't, Re.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You’re too important to me. I can't even explain what you meant to me, because there are no words in the world that would do it justice.”

“You don't even know me.”

 _‘Well, the audacity of this beautiful, lovely fucker,’_ Sirius thought. He took in a deep breath, exhaled, and looked Remus right in the eye as he began to speak. _‘Here we go, then.’_

“I do. I do know you. _I know you_. I know that when you eat scones you use your hands to tear them in half and you put cream on first, and then jam. You like chips. You love the sea. You love sunsets more than the night sky. You love to draw. You always have paint underneath your fingernails. When you draw you lose yourself in it. Anything that your brushes touch comes to life.

“I know you. You memorise the pages of the books you read instead of dog earring them. You fold your receipts and your pockets are lined with them. You fold your dirty socks before you put them away. You love things neat and in order, because there aren’t many things you think you can control.

“I know you. You sleep under the duvet even though it's summer. You love the rain but you hate what it does to your hair. You drink Yorkshire tea and you drink it black, with three sugars because you like the juxtaposition of bitterness and sweetness in life.

“I know you’re lovely and kind and generous and proud. You’re patient with me, even when I am an arse, which is always. You've never asked for a thing from me, ever. You’d barely known me when you gave my mum a painting for her birthday. You make me want to be kinder, to be better.”

Sirius paused for a bit in his soliloquy. He returned Remus’ gaze, who didn’t look as mad as before. In fact, he looked taken aback. Sirius inhaled deeply, steeling himself for what’s coming. The hardest bit, as it always had been. Sirius bravely pressed on.

“I know you. I know that you scream in your sleep, whenever you manage to sleep, that is. That you can't remember which is real and which isn't most of the time. I know that Epilim makes you sad and it gives you nightmares. You didn't stop taking it though because you didn't want to hurt your mum and you’re afraid you’ll hurt others in your episodes.

“I know that you don't remember who I am when you wake up most mornings. I know that when you do though, you want me there. That you miss me. I know this, because you've told me this more than once. You’ve told me this at Kynance Cove, your mouth full of ice cream. You've told me this at Pentire Head during sunset. You’ve told me this at Harlyn Bay, paint on your cheeks, wind in your hair.

“I know that you made me promise that I’ll come back and remind you if you’d forgotten about this, about us; and I have come back to you Remus, everytime. I can't make you love me, Re, but I’d die before I stop loving you. I’d die before I lost my way back to you. Even if you’ll never love me, or remember me again, this is enough for me.

“Remus, my love for you exists outside the need to have it returned.”

Remus looked at him for a very long time without saying anything. All around them, reality failed them. It fell outside the humanly concept of space-time continuum, the manifold of Minkowski space flailing about them, descending into nothingness.

It was barely a whisper when Remus finally spoke.

“You’re an idiot,” his voice breaking, eyes casting downwards. There was no heat to it; he sounded small and taut instead. Remus’ battered Chuck Taylor made an ugly scratchy sound as it scrapped against the pavement. He muttered the next bit so quietly that Sirius had to strain his ear and lean in closer to catch it.

“The world doesn’t work like that, Sirius. Nothing comes without a price.”

“That’s an infallible human concept, Re. The sun doesn’t stop shining because humans stopped worshipping it. Some things exist because they just are; because they’re too important to not exist.” Sirius replied immediately, fully aware that he was sounding plummy and dramatic.

Okay, maybe he had watched Keira Knightley being a total badass in _Katherine Gun_ at the cinema with James last weekend and had developed a slight obsession over her (who wouldn’t). His obsession with a certain Ms Knightley may have spiralled a bit and he may have watched (almost all of) her filmography over the weekend.

His favourites were _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Atonement_.

Remus didn’t say anything to that but the end of his mouth did quirk up a little bit. Sirius counted that as a win. Well, here goes nothing then. Time to pull out ‘the Elder Wand’ as they say.

Sirius pressed his lips together as he gathered all his courage. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled through his mouth, trying and failing to not look as nervous as he felt. If this didn’t work out, well –

“Look, it doesn’t matter what I said, Re. There’s a video recording you made for uh, times like these in your mobile’s private folder. Watch it. If you decide that I should fuck off then, I’ll leave you be. Won’t bother you again. Go on. I'll wait.”

Sirius decided that he needed to stop imposing on Remus space, then. So, he spun on his heels and walked back to the stretch of wall slowly, and sat down as he waited for the love of his life to make up his mind; whether he wanted Sirius out of his life, and rid Sirius of his reason to stay alive in one breath. Sirius’ knees felt weak, his breath shaky. He sat down and closed his eyes. He didn’t think that he could stand up a second longer.

After Remus had stopped watching Sirius’ figure walking away from him, he took his mobile out of his pocket. Remus fumbled about his mobile for a bit before he found the video. It was the only thing in his private folder. His fingers were trembling as he hit ‘play’. It was a video of them, him and Sirius. They were at some beach somewhere, lying on a red and gold beach mat.

Remus didn’t recognise the beach. It was stunning, but next to Sirius, the beach was a wasteland of destruction and fire.

Bits and pieces of memory stumbled back into his mind clumsily.

> _In the video, Remus was squinting at the camera because of the sun, and he had a big goofy grin on his face._

Remus couldn’t remember a time where he had looked so happy.

> _The video panned wide, taking in the scenery around him. There was music playing softly in the background, which must’ve been playing off Sirius’ phone – Snow Patrol. Next to him, Sirius was reading Remus’ battered copy of Pride and Prejudice for school._

Sirius wasn’t even doing anything else in particular but Remus’ heart swelled at the sight of Sirius next to him, soft and wonderful. Remus felt an echo of yearning and want for the past he couldn’t even remember and his eyes started to water.

He shook his head, and tried to blink away his tears so that he could focus on his phone, not wanting to miss anything important.

> _The video was now a close up shot of Sirius. He was wearing his hair up in a fishtail crown braid updo that would look ridiculous on anyone else but him – no surprise there._

Remus remembered thinking back then that he bet he could get behind Sirius on everything he did, however ridiculous, whatever he wanted. Something else clicked in his mind. Hadn’t he done that? Hadn’t he technically done just that not an hour before he made the video? Got behind Sirius, that is, and fucked him senseless in a beach hut that Sirius suspiciously had keys to.

But that was neither here nor there.

Remus remembered how he hadn’t pressed the issue because he was too distracted by Sirius’ hand on his skin and Sirius’ mouth moaning his name. Apparently, that was his favourite sound in the world and not Arctic Monkeys’ entire discography. His skin tingled at the thought, and he was thinking about Sirius’ taste on his tongue when video-Remus spoke.

> _“This one right here made it his mission in life to go to every Cornwall beach listed in some barmy old guidebook,” he said teasingly while playing with a stray strand of hair at Sirius’ nape._
> 
> _Sirius’ eyes twinkled when he spoke, not even looking up from his book._
> 
> _“You’re exaggerating, my love,”he said in the affected air of a perfect gentleman, like he was the picture of a new wave Georgian Lord speaking to his darling lady during a dinner party they were hosting, in front of kings and princes of the land and video-Remus looked so, so far gone._
> 
> _“Sure. Tell me why we are here again?” Remus returned._
> 
> _“Has the beach thus disappoint, mon trésor?”_
> 
> _“No.”_
> 
> _“Alas, the truth prevails,” Sirius replied easily._
> 
> _“He’s a nerd.” Remus said conspiratorially at the camera, scoffing and rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, and directed the camera at Sirius._
> 
> _“Who’re you talking to?” Sirius asked, finally looking up. He looked a smidge concerned. His eyebrows were close together, his eyes blinking rapidly at Remus. He looked cute when he was worrying._
> 
> _“Future Remus.”_
> 
> _“And you said I was the nerd, mon coeur”_
> 
> _“As I was saying,” Remus said louder into the camera, over Sirius’ soft laughter to the camera._
> 
> _“This is Sirius, like the star, and he’s a posho nerd from London. We’re here at Port Isaac because this bleeding Anorak wanted to turn his summer into a documentary of beaches in Cornwall._
> 
> _“He’s also a magician. He can light up your birthday candles with his fingers and shoot lightning out of his eyes.” Remus said, eyes full of mischief._
> 
> _“You flatter me, mon amour,” Sirius said amusedly, slightly chuckling as he sat up unhurriedly, putting his book down next to him, and leaned forward to press a soft kiss on the corner of Remus’ mouth. Remus blushed hard as the kiss was caught on camera._
> 
> _“Right uh … Sirius is your … He’s uh… We’re uh… I think… ,” On camera Remus fumbled over his words as Sirius grinned cheekily at him, clearly enjoying the spectacle. He looked rather radiant just sitting there, and Remus couldn’t help smiling back at him._
> 
> _“You were saying?” Sirius prompted._
> 
> _Remus in the camera frowned at the question._

Remus on the sidewalk frowned as well as he shared the confusion and curiosity. _‘Had they talked about this? What are they?’_ Remus thought.

> _“Sirius, what are we?” Remus heard himself ask in the video, the camera on Sirius’ face._
> 
> _He watched as Sirius’ face in the video changed – a myriad of passing emotions in quick successions, as it settled on hopeful._
> 
> _Sirius’ face seemed to shine as bright as the summer sun then. He was obviously nervous, gently biting his lips and squirming slightly. But he looked right into Remus’ eyes when he spoke or, rather, babbled._
> 
> _“We’re friends, Re. I mean, yes, of course, I want more. Obviously. I mean, it’s you. My heart is yours. But no pressure on your part. I know we just met, but, honestly –,” and the rest of Sirius’ sentence was lost on Remus’ lips, and the video ended as the phone screen was turned off and tossed aside by Remus to somewhere not as urgent as their kiss._

On the sidewalk, as Remus watched the frozen screen of Sirius’ hopeful face, a wave of tumbling memory came crashing back. He remembered now. In between that heated kiss, Remus had whispered _‘yes, a million times yes’_ , as his answer.

Remus shoved his phone back into his pocket and ran towards Sirius, throwing his arms around him and kissed him full on the mouth.

***

They spent a couple more blissful weeks together before Sirius had to go back to school. By then, they had gone to all the beaches in the list and had gone about crossing off the places listed in the ‘Tourist Attraction’ section of the guidebook.

Some days were, of course, better than others, but such was life.

They spent a whole Saturday once at St Michael Mount, holding hands as they crossed the causeway, braving gales and salty winds, making their way to the tidal island. They spent the day exploring the castle and its ground. Remus had said his first ‘I love you’ to Sirius on the castle’ terraces, in full view of the open tranquil sea in front of them.

It was the third time Sirius had heard Remus saying it to him, but it still felt like the first.

At the Lost Garden of Heligan, Sirius re-lived his fantasy of settling down in a cottage somewhere with Remus. _‘Maybe we’ll head up north to the Scottish Highlands, or somewhere by the sea in Wales,’_ he had thought as they disappeared into wild meadows and woodland gardens. Amongst the blooming rhododendrons, peonies, azaleas, and camellias Remus had held his hands and told Sirius he loved him.

Sirius’ heart bloomed like the flowers around him. It was the fifth time Sirius had heard it.

It was raining one Tuesday, and Remus was determined that today was the day he dragged Sirius on the St Ives Bay Line train to St Erth just for fun, and definitely not because the Queen rode them. Sirius took it all in stride. He didn’t even bat an eyelid when they boarded the bus to Paradise Park. Sirius was a bit horrified at the concept of caged animals at the wildlife sanctuary before Remus explained the concept of wildlife conservation.

Remus thought about how endearing Sirius looked feeding a penguin, _‘Look Remus! The peng-wine likes me!’_ Remus held his hand and told him he loved Sirius for the first time. He then kissed him on the cheek as the penguins around them squawked merrily. It was the second time Sirius had heard it.

They even went to the Museum of Witchcraft down in Boscastle once.

Remus had found out about it while he was flipping through Sirius’ travel guide book on the train ride home and insisted that they go there soon. Sirius had been part scorned and strangely offended at the exhibits shown; taking offence at the weirdest details and exclaiming this and that were _‘complete rubbish’_ and _‘bleeding travesties’_ and _‘absolutely not what had happened’_ at the top of his lungs and got them booted out in ten minutes flat.

Remus thought about how Sirius managed to look beautiful even when he was being kicked out of an establishment. He pulled Sirius close and kissed him right in front of the museum staff member who'd just tossed them out to the curb and murmured _‘I love you’_ to Sirius’ lips. It was the tenth time Sirius had heard it.

Sirius spent an entire dinner they had with the golden couple once chattering about their adventures. He told them about that visit to the Witchcraft Museum. He was a force of nature, rendering people to breathless laughter with his exaggerated rendition of events and rude gestures. Remus was half expecting them to be thrown out again, but James had assured him that it was alright. The restaurant owner was a close family friend of theirs.

 _'Sure it was,'_ Remus had scoffed inwardly, having caught on to James' and Sirius' habit of throwing money at the world to make it bend to their wants.

So Remus sat there, finding himself void of animosity however, as he listened to Sirius’ animated chattering. He was surprised to find himself feeling content and unbelievably happy. When Sirius caught sight of him staring, Remus mouthed _‘I love you’_ to him. It was the eleventh time Sirius had known it.

Across the table, Lily beamed at Remus. She reached across the table to give Remus’ hand a short squeeze, and exclaimed that she loved how cute Sirius and him looked together, and insisted they all toast to _love_.

Sirius looked furiously at Lily for stealing his thunder. Remus liked Lily. She was cool. Also, her music taste was impeccable. Remus remembered chatting about Alex Turner with her, and they gushed about the ‘A.M. era’ and how fit Alex looked then.

James was beside himself with jealousy, demanding to know exactly who this Alex bloke was. Sirius had jumped in the conversation then, initial anger at Lily forgotten, and proceeded to wax poetry about what a dishy bloke Alex was to rile up James further. The resulting mess that was James was highly entertaining.

Remus couldn’t help wishing that he too would be returning to their school come September with them, his friends. But he knew he would never be worthy enough to belong to that world.

On their last day together that summer, Sirius made them stop at Minack Theatre on their way to the Land's End. The sight of a seaside open air theater carved into a cliff side was magical. The boys found out that a brilliant woman called Rowena ~~_Ravenclaw_~~ Cade had built it with nothing but hand tools hundreds of years ago. Remus had liked the thought of something beautiful untouched by time.

He whispered his first _‘I love you’_ in Sirius' ear as they watched ‘The Tempest’ being played at the suspiciously empty theater. It was the twentieth time Sirius had heard Remus saying it to him, and Sirius felt like it hadn’t been said enough.

After the play ended, Sirius held his hand and they walked all the way down to the empty stage. Sirius got to one knee and made a vow that he would love Remus beyond the concept of time, beyond all earthly reason, and beyond measure. He made a vow that he would treasure Remus even after his dying breath, even after the world collapsed in on itself and even when god had given up on them.

Sirius then took off his family signet ring, the one that Monty gave him not long ago and offered it – _the ring, his heart, his life_ to Remus.

Remus took it and slipped it on his finger. He then pulled Sirius up to his feet, saying _‘I love you’_ over and over as he peppered Sirius’ face with kisses.

It was the last time Sirius had heard Remus saying it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote:
> 
> Title is a third movement of Suite _bergamasque_ by Claude Debussy,  
> a piano depiction of a Paul Verlaine poem
> 
> Poem is as aforementioned.
> 
> P/s: I’m sorry.
> 
> ***
>
>>   
> Translation:
>> 
>> merde - shit
>> 
>> mon trésor - my treasure
>> 
>> mon coeur - my heart  
> 


	12. There is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 100,000 deaths yearly, Arabella, and 'Astrum Lunar'.

“Ten spears go to battle,"  
he whispered,  
"and nine shatter.  
Did the war forge the one that remained?  
No, Amaram."

"All the war did  
was identify  
the spear that would not break.”

𐂂

James Potter stood under an oak grove. It was the most beautiful part of the graveyard. The oaks were tall, and ethereal against the black and white marble mausoleums. There used to be an iron kissing gate here and ugly brick walls all around them courtesy of generations of Godric’s Hollow wizarding families. He personally thought that the oak groves was an improvement to the otherwise sombre and grim ground. Of course, it was. Anything in the world would be better if they had Sirius Black’s touch to them.

Somewhere above his head a jay hooted loudly. James looked up. He saw that the jay was hopping merrily on one of the tallest branches. There was a bird nest up there. James watched as the grey bird hopped, and hopped home. The bird was bringing back dinner. There were baby birds up there, a family. James could hear them chirping over the food. They had made their nest right on top of what used to be a piece of white cloth tied to the tree branch. It had become tinged green with moss, a stark contrast against the black trunk. Nature had claimed the cloth as one of its own.

It was Sirius’. The cloth. Or rather a sleeve torn off his school uniform. James knew Sirius wouldn’t mind the birds and the moss on it. Like James also knew the fact that his own family ring, the Potters' signet ring was tied up in that piece of cloth. An heirloom of his – well, theirs. His own father gave it to Sirius, years ago. The ring was supposed to be passed down from the youngest son to another.

Such was the way it was for hundreds of years. Much like the invisibility cloak that was passed down on the firstborn sons of the Potter family. _‘It just wasn’t unlike Sirius to overlook any chance to take a piss on everything tradition,’_ James had thought when he found out.

James’ only son, Harry, is a first year at Hogwarts now – _‘how time had flown,’_ James thought sombrely. Harry would never inherit the ring. Harry would never have gotten the chance to pass it on to his son, either. The hundred years old tradition had instead met its match with Sirius. James had given Harry the cloak instead, the night before he left for Hogwarts a few days ago and he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry at the sight of Harry’s reaction.

Harry looked just like 11 year old James. So much like his younger self. Bright-eyed, infallible sense of justice and faith in the world. With his parents doting on him the way they did, young James had thought that he could win the world. With Sirius by his side at Hogwarts, he very nearly did. How naïve had he been. James wished his parents had taught him otherwise.

A soft breeze blew and, with it, a cascade of browning oak leaves fluttered around him. It was very nearly winter now, but James could barely register the cold wind. He was still watching the cloth – that sleeve torn off his brother’s school shirt – as it swayed with the breeze.

James pointed his wand at it – spelled a permanent sticking charm at it and hoped it would last this time. They should. But his spells were always shoddy here, in the land of the dead. Him – the livings and his magic were unwelcome here – that was the one thing the dead had a say on. James watched as the ruddy cloth fluttered with the winter breeze again – the lone golden Gryffindor cufflink blinked back lazily at him in the interspersed rays of the evening sun. Mocking his impotence.

James’ eyes were hard on the trees. He was thinking that he should be home soon. Lily would worry. But he couldn’t uproot from his spot under the oak grove. The sessile oaks were not even natives to this part of the country. But here they were anyway – rows of hundreds of years old sessile oaks. Uprooted from his parents – Sirius’ and his parents’ cottage down south.

They were the living, breathing proof that nothing in the world could go against Sirius Black’s strong headedness. Well, almost.

James hadn’t known how the trees got there. He hadn’t known when they were moved or replanted. He hadn’t actually known shite.

He did however had the suspicion that his mum, Effie played a part in this somehow. He couldn’t imagine she would’ve said yes to it if anybody else had asked. She loved the oaks. But this was Sirius. Sirius had the world in his hands, people swallowing his every word even when he didn’t even try. And Effie had been very fond of her other son. Effie had loved Sirius like he was her own flesh and blood. Like she carried him around in her belly for nine months. Like she had bled herself dry for him once, and she wouldn’t hesitate if he asked again. All the time they had spent in the woods behind their cottage, in the garden at their estate – who was to say that Sirius hadn’t asked her for too much?

His mum had told James once that if you touched the wood, it would ward off misfortune. There were guardian spirits living in the oaks – nymphs, James supposed. They could grant your plea of good fortune if they wished to. James hadn’t believed her. Not when the only thing he wanted in this life was beyond the reach of any divine power, much less a nymph.

James had blamed Sirius for Effie’s death. Monty too. Dragon pox. It was not long after they left Hogwarts. His parents were too old to fight back. James mourned them for years after. It was _the burden_ of their constant worrying over Sirius that made them weaker – he had all but screamed at Sirius’ face at the funeral, in front of their neighbours, in front of their friends, in front of their school professors who’d known them as brothers.

Sirius hadn’t bothered saying a word back. He simply left.

It hadn’t felt as good as he thought – the yelling, the assigning of blame. But James had chalked it all on his grief. Lily was against all of this, of course. It nearly cost him their relationship. James had blamed Sirius again – in private this time. Following Lily’s advice (read: threat), James had begrudgingly made an attempt to reconcile with his only living relative – his brother, _Sirius_. She was right of course. James was acting like an entitled prick. This was Sirius after all. He loved him. But it was too late.

James scoffed loudly at the memory and aimed a kick at the two gravestones made of marble and limestone in front of him; the weathered gravestones were the only ones under the oak groves. His standard issue Auror boots – for he had come here straight after work and he had forgotten to replace his spare pair of civilian boots at the office – had scraped up a layer of grime against the gravestone and nothing more. James hadn’t really known what he was hoping for. A decrepitation maybe. The crackling of the marble and limestone from underneath his feet; for the graves to crack open and swallow him – guilty and whole.

There was a sudden sound of a soft pop – a sign of someone _apparating_ behind him. It had effectively stopped James from doing something drastic or another to the graves. Blasting the words _‘the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’_ off one of the tombstones maybe. His posture stiffened and his muscles went almost rigid as his adrenaline rose steadily – as it always did in the dawn of a battle.

James made a fast, barely there movement to slip his wand out of his sleeve – it was the only thing they made him practice in his first month at the Auror Academy. _‘If you couldn’t even draw your wand faster than your enemy, you’re already dead. Constant vigilance!’_ Alastor Moody, the Senior Auror Advisor, had all but screamed at their fresh faces back then. He wasn’t wrong.

He paused when he heard a soft sniffle from the person. James recognised it – Lily.

James spun around to see his wife walking towards him. Lily stopped in her tracks, as she warily watched James raising his wand at her. Her fiery red hair looked like a halo against the setting sun. Her face was casted in the shadow, hiding it, and James wondered if this was what it would feel like to be personally escorted to the afterlife by Death; a faceless vision of eternal beauty.

“Who’s Harry's favourite Quidditch player?” James asked in lieu of greeting. Even years after the war, he couldn’t shake it. Old habits die hard. Everything else apparently, much too easily.

“Krum if you’re thinking international. Oliver Woods, Puddlemere United. BIQL,” Lily answered. She didn’t even falter. She didn’t ask him a security question. She didn’t share James’ paranoia and PTSD.

James watched as Lily closed the distance between them in a couple of long strides and wrapped him in her arms. He leaned into her hug. He buried his head in her hair. It smelt like her shampoo that she had been using since they were at Hogwarts - light dewy rose scent with a tinge of balsam de Peru. She had remained the constant fixture in his universe ever since Hogwarts, and this brought him back to all those years ago when he thought that he had everything in life figured out; he had his parents, his brother, the love of his life and the prospect of a professional Quidditch career in the palm of his hands. _Well, look at him now._ The fates must’ve had a field day when they were knitting his yarn.

Lily felt warm and comforting against him. The fabric of her winter coat felt soft but it clung against his freezing limbs. He didn’t realise that he was cold. He must've stood there for hours. Lily finally let him go after a while. She brushed the tears off his face with the pad of her thumb. James hadn’t realised he had been crying, either. He could see himself reflected in Lily’s irises now, standing so close to her – hair as messy as ever, swollen bloodshot eyes against his dark skin.

A sudden coldness and dread hit him at the core. He could feel his anger or frustration – he didn’t know, bubbling and rising from the depth of his soul. It had been years, why would he still feel like it was just yesterday?

“Have you told him?” Lily said, her soft voice breaking the seemingly eternal silence.

James shook his head slightly. Lily often put too much faith in his cowardly self.

Lily didn’t say anything anymore. She held his hand in hers, and laced their fingers together. They turned together, as a unit, facing the graves.

James shuffled to stand even closer to her. He rested his head against hers, leaning for support. He knew that they looked like a vision together. Her fiery red hair against his jet black. Snowy-white skin against his deep brown. The light to his darkness. The dawnbringer to his eternal night.

This was it, then.

James cleared his throat, and blinked his tears away. He spoke slowly, not wanting to disturb the dead, addressing the two graves under the oak groves.

“I – ,” his voice broke. Lily squeezed his hand once.

He tried again.

“I – I am – .” James said, there was a catch in his voice. He tried to blink away the tears that had pooled in his eyes, and they fell on his cheek. The tears rolled down the harsh pane of his face, all the way down to the scruff of his five o'clock shadow. It waned for a bit at the tip of his chin, and then, without preamble, it splattered against the slab of marble and limestone.

The wet, darkened grey stone looked so much like Sirius’ eyes.

James fell to his knees. He was kneeling down now, his right hand was gripping the foot of the grave so hard to stop it from shaking that his brown skin looked ashen in the light of the dawn. His chest heaved up and down. The icy cold winter air he inhaled did nothing to soothe the world of pain inside. His other hand that was clutched in Lily’s was all that kept him sinking all the way to the after life.

He closed his eyes tight, as he felt the pool of guilt in him flooded and spill over in waves of cardinal and crushing retrospective.

Lily put a soft hand around his shoulder and sat beside him. James let out a heart rending, despairing cry as he sobbed.

“Sirius, I –”

***

Summer: 12 years ago

***

They just had a lovely dinner together at the cottage. James was busying himself plating his coconut rice pudding and poached pear for dessert. Lily was helping him with the dishes. Sirius and Remus were somewhere outside in the backyard. Sirius had said that he wanted to show Remus the sessile oak grove, which James had privately thought was code for making out.

James shook his head slightly at the thought and smiled to himself. He was happy. This was summer as it should be, wasn’t it? Lily and him. Sirius and Remus. Just them, no crisis, no tragedy. Just young people in love, spending their summer together, frolicking about the countryside and being up to absolutely no good. He admitted that he loved seeing how happy Sirius was these days. He loved having Remus around, too. James had to admit that at first, he had been wary of this Remus character. But when they had finally met ~~so he might have convinced Lily to ‘accidentally’ crash one of the lovebirds’ beach trips~~ , it immediately became clear why his brother was so smitten with Remus.

Remus was brilliant. He was quick with a joke, tongue as sharp as his wit. He was basically a riot in a baggy jumper. Remus could go toe to toe against Sirius (which was saying a lot) and argue his way out of anything with logic easily. Remus rolled with the punches like he was born into it, like it was family-business, and would call Sirius on his bullshit, bringing him back on solid ground every time.

James had loved him for it. James had also thought that it was refreshing that someone else was shouldering that responsibility.

Most of all, James was grateful that Remus had made his brother the happiest he had seen him. Happiness looked so good on Sirius.

James was making his way out of the kitchen and through the back door to call his brother and Remus back in for dessert when he heard loud voices arguing just outside. He paused on the other side of the door, hand almost on the door knob. James listened, wand out, just in case, when he realised that it was them. Of course. Sirius and Remus. What was he thinking?

He knew that he shouldn’t eavesdrop, and he was about to walk away when he heard Sirius cursing loudly. _‘This can’t be good,’_ he thought. He knew how Sirius could get. This wouldn’t end well for him or Remus. So, he stood there, silently, in the little hallway just off the kitchen that led to the backyard, listening to his brother and Remus bickering. Just in case.

“Fuck’s sake Re, its eleven months. I’ll be back for good in _eleven months_ ,” James heard Sirius say. There was a wild desperation in Sirius’ voice that James hadn’t heard before. James frowned.

“A lot could happen,” Remus returned so quietly that James had to strain his ears to listen.

“I’ll come visit every fucking weekend, Re. When did I ever go back on my own words?”

“See, this is what I don’t want. You, throwing your life away for me.”

“Going to see you every weekend is not me throwing my life away! Listen, this is what I want. I want us. I want you. I just need to go back to school for a couple of months and I’ll come back to you. You’ll move in with me then. You can do anything you want – study art, paint all day long, nothing, anything. I don’t care, as long as you’re with me, as long as you’re out of that fucking place. _Please._ ”

“Sirius, I can’t let you do this. You should be out there living your life. You should be with someone who deserves you. Not someone like me.”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare, Re.”

“Sirius, people like me have a limited life expectancy.”

“Remus, _please just –_ ”

“Look, Sirius. You need to know that I have at most, another couple of years.”

_“Please don’t say that.”_

“If I regress or get worse, they’ll just ... Do you know that our mental health centers have over 100,000 deaths yearly?”

“Fuck, _Re_ –”

“You’re a number’s guy, Sirius. You know what I have. You know that it's hereditary. I couldn’t even think about having a kid even though I'd love to because I know I’ll fuck them up with this, or by dying on them. I couldn’t dream about spending my life with someone because – _look at me_. There’s no cure. There’s no someday. There’s no one day down the road for me. This is it. Sirius, _cariad_ , I’m nothing but a burden. I don’t have anything to offer you in return,” Remus said so slowly, and he sounded exhausted.

“You’re everything to me, Remus. I don’t _need_ anything else. I don’t _want_ anything else. I just want you. You’re not a burden, not to me. Please don’t do this – this _penance_ act. You deserve to be happy, Remus. We deserve this.” Sirius was practically begging by then, his voice breaking with anger and pain and sadness. James’ heart ached terribly just by listening to it.

“I can’t let you waste your life, waiting around for me to have my one good day of the week –” Remus said monotonously, as if he hadn’t heard a thing Sirius had said.

“Remus, I love you. All of you. Good days, bad days, _everything_ in between.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“FOR FUCKS SAKE REMUS, I –” Sirius started shouting again.

James stepped away from the door.

***

Autumn: 12 years ago

***

James was laying in his bed, and reading a book on _Animagi_ he had borrowed from the library that evening when their dormitory’s door was banged open. Sirius barged in, breathless, hair and clothes messy and in a complete disarray as if he had just come back from a Quidditch practice. But that couldn’t be right. It was Saturday night, there was no Quidditch tonight. James watched as Sirius walked across the room to James’ bed. James looked at him more carefully now. Sirius’ eyes were glazing over and he looked clearly shaken to the core.

Sirius collapsed in his arms. His skin felt cold to the touch and his breath was getting more and more laboured, and when James felt hot trickles of tears on his shoulder, James realised that Sirius was crying. He was muttering something over and over again in a thick, emotionally drenched voice that James couldn’t quite catch – it was probably something in French seeing how upset he was. James pulled Sirius closer to his chest and held him tight.

Sirius didn’t get out of bed for a week. He was delirious with high fever. His night terrors were back, and he screamed at his ghosts and tossed about violently in his sleep all the livelong day.

Even the matron was stumped. She couldn’t offer anything useful beyond recommending Sirius to sleep it out. There was nothing that they could do. The dreamless sleep potion had never worked on him – thanks to Walburga, James suspected. Their other roommates had taken it upon themselves to sleep on the common room sofa. It was too much pain to witness, much less to bear.

Not even McGonagall had the heart to have Sirius transferred to the hospital wing and away from James when she went in to check on Sirius herself. She simply told James to keep an eye on Sirius and left. But James knew better, she was worried. Sirius was never like this, not even back in their fifth year when the torment from his family had been the worst, and he had finally cracked and ran away. James couldn’t help feeling helpless as he watched his brother tempted fate and tangled with his demons in his unconsciousness.

When Sirius finally had broken through the fever, and stopped screaming himself hoarse day in and out, he said two words to James and refused to say anything else. After, he shut himself behind the curtain of his four poster bed. He didn’t eat or drink or bother to shower and change.

“Remus’ gone.”

James had immediately written to his father and begged him to find Remus at any cost.

Monty hadn’t even asked who Remus Lupin was, or even why James was looking for him. That was the sort of relationship James and his father had – they trusted one another. James understood then what Sirius had said to him in the cottage’s backyard – that James hadn’t once experienced a sense of hopelessness as dreadful and unspeakable as Sirius’ because James’ parents would always be there for him.

James was awakened from his sleep the following Friday before dawn to the sound of his family owl tapping their dormitory window with its beak. Written on the piece of parchment in his father’s handwriting was a single line – an address. He ran to Sirius’ bed, pulling back the curtain to his four poster bed to hurriedly wake him up only to realise that Sirius wasn’t even sleeping.

His brother was just laying there, eyes red, silent tears trickling endlessly down his cheeks.

Later, James realised that Sirius had been so grimly desensitized to his own trauma and suffering that he didn’t even realise that he had been crying until James wiped the tears off his face.

***

The address was a mental health center in Penzance. It was horrid. The building block was rundown and neglected. It was the epitome of poorly managed.

When they stepped into the building, James’ blood boiled at the sight of the code-locked doors everywhere and the security glass panels and heavy doors the centre was steeped in. It gave off a very off-putting detainment center vibe, instead of a place for healing. James wanted to tear it down with his bare hands. Throw _impedimenta_ at it maybe. The patients that they could see coming and going looked so forlorn and defeated.

James was painfully reminded of the number Remus had quoted to Sirius that summer – _‘100,000 deaths.’_ James swallowed thickly. His inside went cold at the thought. _‘How’re we going to survive this if the inevitable happened? How’s Sirius going to survive this?’_

He looked around. The walls were painted in a pale peach colour, and the curtains were ugly cream, dotted with mildew and black spots – courtesy of years of improper care. It was dingy and stuffy. The greying linoleum floor might have been blue once. There were a couple of flickering fluorescents down the corridor. James couldn’t imagine being here for longer than he needed to, much less imprisoned.

Next to him, Sirius was shaking. With rage, agony, or fear? James didn’t know. Couldn’t possibly imagine. James reached for Sirius’ arm to steady him, but Sirius shook off his hand. James tried not to get offended, this wasn’t about him. This was about Sirius, this was about Sirius’ life. But James knew at that moment he had failed Sirius. He had failed his own flesh and blood. That much was clear. He should’ve done more. He should’ve done better to save Remus. He should've helped Sirius earlier.

James watched as Sirius bravely approached the counter despite his trembling legs. His brother looked like a poor imitation of who he used to be. Sirius had lost so much weight and he looked almost skeletal. Skin gaunt and waxy, eyes a permanent state of bloodshot. Sirius held his head up high still, shoulders held back and standing upright in the good pureblood posture he had been taught to do his entire childhood. Somehow, he managed to look regal and fearsome despite everything.

This was his battle stance, James knew that. Sirius was fighting to be strong.

There was a thick plexiglass surrounding the receptionist counter. James could have sworn that there were bits of dried blood at the corner of the glass in between grimes and decades of dirt. It was unsettling. There was a nurse there, behind the glass. She was busy writing reports on a clipboard. On her computer screen, there was a list of names and tables of numbers that did not make sense to James. She ignored the both of them when Sirius tapped on the glass lightly and instead continued writing, looking self important. She then glared at Sirius before swivelling in her chair and went on to type a row of things on her computer.

James glanced at Sirius. Sirius had been known to resort to drastic measures when he was feeling cornered. James thought hurriedly of ways to stop Sirius from smashing the glass standing between them and pummel the nurse with his fists maybe. Or worse, doing his wandless, wordless magic to inflict terrible damage and unmentionable carnage. James racked his brain to find something diplomatic to say.

But, before he could come up with anything, the nurse beat him to it. Without looking up, she said to Sirius, “You're him, aren't you?”

“ _Excuse moi?_ ” Sirius said, taken aback in his plummy accent. Damn the French in him, honestly.

James looked at the nurse again, properly this time. Taking her in. Scrutinising her because _what in the damn hell?_

She was wearing a nurse’s badge that had _‘Arabella’_ written on it. She was tiny, her feet were barely touching the ground as she sat on her swivel chair. Her bright blue eyes were piercing and they clashed brilliantly against her fair skin. There was no kindness in them.

Suddenly, her mobile on the table made a loud obnoxious sound. Her bony hand shot out immediately to pick it up. She started tapping on something on the phone and sniggered at something on the screen.

James stared at the offending mobile in her hand. It looked eerily familiar. Midnight green, top of the line, and _‘hold on,’_ James thought, there was even an ugly, unholy ding on the back of the mobile now that he was looking properly. _‘Isn’t that …?’_

His throat felt painfully dry when he tried to swallow the ghastly thought. Next to him, Sirius rapped the glass again impatiently. James didn’t think that Sirius had noticed the phone yet. He was too agitated and was hyper-focused on getting the nurse’s attention.

Arabella looked immensely irritated when she looked up from her phone to finally, properly, acknowledging their presence. She made a face at Sirius and sneered. She spat her next few words as if it physically ill her to say them.

“You’re his _cariad_ , aren’t you? The one he wouldn’t _shut up_ about.”

“Where is he?” James heard Sirius said in barely a whisper. His heart stopped.

“You don’t know? He’s dead. Offed himself. Jumped off that cliff up front.”

“YOU’RE LYING! WHERE IS HE?! TELL ME!”

Sirius screamed the words at her and raised his hands to wreak havoc on the mortal world like a powerful, wrathful god. He was a harbinger of death and chaos. James was still in shock. He watched stupidly as Sirius banged on the glass with his fists, hard. A web of hairline cracks appeared immediately. Sirius hit the glass with his fists again. The cracks on the glass grew deeper. The shards were barely hanging onto its frame now.

This time James noticed the brilliant silver sparks and flashes of magic crackling from Sirius’ fingers. The air was thick with Sirius’ magic. It was harsh and unforgiving. James could feel it travelling down his neck and back. It snapped James into action and James scrambled to hold Sirius back. James held Sirius’ arms tight as Sirius screamed and yelled obscenities at the nurse, St Senara, the world, god, and himself.

James would remember the look that the nurse gave Sirius forever. It was incredulous and condescending. She looked at him like he was something unworthy. She didn't even bother to say anything before she finally stood up and stomped out through a doorway connecting the receptionist area to another room. She came back a second later, now with two male staff to escort them out.

After they had been deposited outside the building, one of the staff shoved a shoe box in James’ hand and told them to not come back or they would call the police on them. Sirius was crumpled on the grass at James’ feet. He was hugging himself, shaking and trembling all over. Tears were running freely on his contorted face. He kept saying the same thing over and over, in anguish.

“I did this, James. I did this. I killed him. I killed Remus. He needed me and I left him here. He loved me and I fucking killed him. I killed him.”

***

Following the event at the centre, Sirius became an entirely different person. He quit Quidditch, he quit Marauders shenanigans and as far as James knew, he quit slagging around too. Instead, Sirius spent all his free time at the library and only came back to the dorm room to sleep at night. The only thing that remained the same was his habit of disappearing on the weekends. Apart from that, he did very little of nothing else.

James had tried and failed to do anything about it. In fact, Sirius had barely said a word to James, or anyone, for the rest of their final year at Hogwarts. He kept up with his homework just to get the professors off his back, kept his head down in lessons and did everything perfunctorily.

Even Lily couldn’t get much out from him, and James thought that they had bonded over the summer and their loss. Lily had loved Remus very much, too, despite having known him for only a short time. She cried for weeks when she found out about Remus’ death. She held a vigil at the Gryffindor common room that Sirius didn’t even show up to.

As it turned out, James was wrong about a lot of things.

James had found out from his mum later that Sirius had been spending his time and energy championing social causes both in the Muggle world and also the Wizarding world. Sirius apparently had donated an astonishing amount of his inheritance to advocate the change of policy in both governments, all anonymous of course, to protect himself from the backlash. Monty had a hand in that, James supposed.

Sirius had been busy. For starters, he had been fighting against the systematic mistreatment of werewolves in the Wizarding world. He had been lobbying members of the Wizengamot to change their law that disallowed werewolves from holding a job, having a family, and obtaining education. James had seen the upheaval of that in the Daily Prophet a couple of times, but he hadn’t expected it was all Sirius’ doing.

James should have known, of course, no one could cause chaos like Sirius. He had the natural gift for it.

To push the progress along, Sirius had also spent a ridiculous sum on the Potion Association, for a private research grant to study a better alternative to the Wolfsbane potion. He also funded the sanction of a 100 acre woodland in a secluded part of the country for werewolves to transform if they rather have that alternative to the _Wolfsbane potion_ , with their safety guaranteed by the Ministry of Magic itself. James couldn’t possibly imagine how Sirius had achieved the impossible.

Effie had also told him that Sirius had set up a charity called the _‘Astrum Lunar’_ for young people that were living with mental illness in Britain. Sirius had organised several fundraisers himself, and had managed to raise more than a million pounds. The proceeds went to setting up mental health centers around the country for these kids – a safe house of sorts where they had a licensed therapist, psychiatrist and counsellor on site to work with them through any issues.

The houses were wonderful, Effie had said. There were large garden areas where kids could just hang out, relax, or read. Study rooms with computers and books if they wanted to study. Activity rooms with musical instruments and games. Dinner was available everyday at five. Kids flooded the house. It had become viral on the internet apparently as a sanctuary for young adults, where they were otherwise often not wanted.

It wasn’t taboo to go there, or depressing to hang out at after school. In fact, a lot of them came to support their friends seeking professional help. Slowly, and steadily, it garnered such positive traction that these young adults, inspired by how impactful the _‘Astrum Lunar’_ was in their lives, took the cause leaps and bound further by organising their own fundraisers, charity runs, volunteering schemes, and social media campaigns.

Effie sung endless praises of the monumental change the _‘Astrum Lunar’_ had made to these young adults’ lives. It would appear that Sirius had been spending more time with his parents than he knew. She and Monty had been to the first house’s ground-breaking ceremony, and visited a lot of times after that to help Sirius dealing with legal process and other formalities, or to just hang out with the kids.

James couldn’t help feeling left out at that.

Things had changed between him and Sirius, and he didn’t know exactly why. James also didn’t know that the hairline fracture in their relationship had grown to the size of a chasm. This was the point everything had gone to complete and utter shite.

James hadn’t realised when, but somewhen in his seventh year at Hogwarts, while he was busy with NEWTs, Quidditch, being a Head Boy and spending time with Lily, he and Sirius had outgrown the bond they had built when they were younger. They might as well be strangers.

After they graduated, James barely saw Sirius anymore. He got way too busy working for multiple charities at once and advocating for social justice. They met a handful of times for their parents’ parties but that had been out of obligation and respect for their mum and dad rather than them wanting to spend time together.

Right after their parents’ death, a Wizarding war broke out in Europe.

The Black family were right in the center of it, and the last James had heard of Sirius was that he was at the front line of the battlefield, exacting retribution and directing his anger at his family at the war effort. He was killed not months after, in a brutal ambush orchestrated by the Dark Side. He was gravely outnumbered but Sirius had taken at least half a dozen members of the opposing side with him to hell and gravely injured countless others.

After James had learnt of his brother’s passing, James quit Quidditch Academy for Wimbourne Wasps Hopefuls and applied to be an Auror. He started Auror training soon after.

It was then, when he had lost all his family members but Lily, that James discovered that fear and love were very much alike.

If you take them apart, all the assembled pieces could look like they’re two of the same halves. You bare yourself to something that compels you, in return of nothing promised. Like a budding flower that grew with time, only to wilt comes Spring. You could love, and let it consume you. But in the end, it wouldn’t change the lifeline fate engraved for you.

The same goes to fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Footnote: 
> 
> Title is a song by Box Car Racer
> 
> Quote is from “Oathbringer” by Brandon Sanderson
> 
> p/s: All the facts stated by Remus are true. 
> 
> ***


	13. Epilogue/Outtakes: Letter to the Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star lights, mercy, and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Abuse, Trauma, Gaslighting, Suicide

~~☾☆~~

~~Cariad,~~  
Sirius,

They took your ring off my finger. Said it was dangerous. They gave me ~~sedatifes~~ something ~~because I screammed and I throw a fit and a desk at the window and almoost cracked it in half because they took the one thing I had leaft of you away from me~~ to calm me down. ~~I didn’t know if it was not you, coming here just to take it back and tell me I am a worthless monster or them. I don’t remember and they wouldn’t tell me.~~ There is a fine line between living and acknowledging it, and by god I’ve done the other one so well until I met you.

I wake up this morning ~~with your voice in my ears and your warmth on my fingertip. I feel you in my arms and your taste lingered on my tongue. I can see you at the back of my eyelids but you were gone when I blinked. You were dancing in my dreams and you kissed me under the oak grave of your parents’ cotagge and you told me we’re going home~~ and I ate my medication. ~~My heart ached for you all the livelong day.~~

 ~~They tied me to the bed because I couldn’t stop laughing and crying they said. I can’t help it cariad.~~ I had this ~~funny~~ thought yesterday that ~~if there was a war, like there’s been one in my chest for so long it was anccient, and I was a soldiers charging into the battles, your name would be the battle cry.~~ War against injusttice should be fought in your name. ~~because you’re you and brilliant and you wouldn’t let them hurt me.~~ I miss you so much.

Please come ~~back I don’t think I can last another day without you. I need you. They took away your phone too. All the paints and brushes. The papeers. My paintings. Everything. I heard them talking about my hallucinating worsening and there were listing up new treatments for a gaslight and trauma. I need you please, please come back. You promised. I can’t do this anymore.~~ visit soon I need you ~~to save me from~~ here. I’m living in the dirt road of mirage and nightmares, in the land where god hangs her mercy by the door.

I have come to know more ways to love with you, than I’ve done living my whole life.

My mum came ~~to yell at me about you~~ yesterday ~~she told me that I’m stupid for thinking that people like you could ever love someone like me but I don’t think I have to believe her. Not anymore. She told me who you really were but I think she’s still lying. You’d told me the truth would you?She also told me who I was and why we’re here. I hurt someone and we had to run away. She said I was an idiot for thinking that you’ll come back because I was nothing but a burden. A monster. A waste of space and money.~~

I think I understand if you can’t ~~find your way back to me~~ come visit this weekend. I’ll be waiting for you ~~for what’s left of my life~~ at the ~~bottom of the cliff~~ where you first told me you love me. ~~Come and kiss me all day and night long I yearn for you I need you please. I need you here with me I cant do this anymore, I cant live like this, on my own when I’ve known of a life with you.~~ I’ve learnt to ~~not~~ breathe with your name on my tongue

I’m writing to tell you ~~for the last time~~ how much I love you, how much you mean ~~t~~ to me and ~~how much I’ll~~ I miss you. You’re the brightest, most beautiful star in ~~my~~ the night sky cariad and you’re brilliant and the world does not deservee you ~~and clearly, nor do I~~. People like you are made to shift the lines in the universe. You’re made of burning fire. There’s embers in lieu of your beating heart. Star lights in you bloodstreams. There wouldn’t be destroying the likes of you.

 ~~I’m sorry that I’m such a disappointment you deserve so much better. You deserve someone that you can be proud of. Certainly not me. Certainly not a monster. You deserve someone who can love you every second of everyday. You desevered to not be forgotten.~~ I ~~will~~ love you ~~until my bones turn to sand and my blood returns to the sea. I love you beyond life, I shall love you beyond death.~~

Come ~~home to me from whereever. Come home to me from the constellations afar. Come home to me with the gleaming moonlight. Come home to me with the turn of the waves. Come home to me in the lovely summer breeze. Come home to me with the flights of jays and it’s cry. Come home to me in the starless sky, in the darkest night. Come home to my heart. Come~~ back home cariad. ~~Come home.~~

 ~~worshipper of your heart~~  
Re-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated and loved x
> 
> Arts for this fic:
> 
> [wizardnem](https://wizardnem.tumblr.com/post/626650784702070785/a-wolfstar-commission-for-rosemaldrge)
> 
> [tamehill](https://tamehill.tumblr.com/post/630957045332525056/a-tribute-to-that-one-fic-that-made-me-ugly-cry)
> 
> Feel free to yell at me on tumblr [rosemaldrge](https://rosemaldrge.tumblr.com/ask) if this broke your heart too x


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